Demon Hunter
by Nex-thanarak
Summary: Demon hunters. Those who devote their lives to finding and slaying minions of the Burning Legion. Fueled by hatred, they'll use the demons' own magic against them. But how long can they last steeped in such corruption before they become what they despise?
1. Chapter 1

The Demon Hunter

Thank you to all of you who have read and reviewed my story. It's always heartening to see my work appreciated.

The Demon Hunter begins just previous to the events of Warcraft III, The Frozen Throne, and runs concurrent to them. These events play heavily in the story, though the story touches only lightly on the events seen in the campaign.

This story is intended to be novel length, and I've already completed a sizable portion of it. While I planned it to be a stand-alone novel, it now seems it's going to be the first of at least two books, possibly three depending on how the second goes. I intend to update fairly frequently, depending on whether I have the material already written and feel it's ready to be posted.

This is a work of fan fiction. While this story is my own creation, and most of its characters are original, it is set in Blizzard's Warcraft world. Events, places, history, and many characters are taken from that world.

Chapter One

Vindication

No mortal had ever been to a demonic realm. Even those who had spent their entire lifetime learning of demons and how to combat the Burning Legion knew nothing of where its minions sallied from. Of course there was no doubt demonic realms were not pleasant places, but to suppose and to see were two very different things.

But if the demons could call any place on Azeroth their home away from home, it would be the Plaguelands. The location of the Plague's first outbreak and the staging area for the unexpected but devastating Scourge attack on humanity. No life in the area remained untainted: smaller plants had simply withered and died, while larger ones had mutated into diseased fungi or sagged away as their insides liquified. Of the animals those that remained had been turned by the plague into monstrosities, eaters of the plentiful carrion the massive numbers of death had produced. The ground was diseased and yellow, each step raising clouds of toxic dust.

In the Plaguelands, even the sun looked diseased.

The dreadlord Rachondimus strode arrogantly across the tainted land, ignoring the cloud of dust his taloned feet kicked up. The twisted denizens that roamed the area searching for carrion to feed on gave him a wide berth, wisely fearing to attack a dreadlord. Rachondimus was pleased with this land, the creation of which his brothers had overseen. It was a land worthy of ruling, and he was eager to find one of this brothers and steal away his armies, his position of power, and his life.

An odd animal cry turned his attention to a possible threat. From a sickly ravine from which spewed malodorous ichor a figure appeared, clad in armor which shone bright in spite of the wan sun. At first he thought it was all one creature, but then he realized it was a human riding some beast. The human held a massive warhammer in one hand, while with the other he expertly guided his mount.

Rachondimus smiled, feeling his blood rise at the thought of carnage to come. One human would be little fun, but until he was in a secure place of power he was happy to take what he could get. "You are arrogant to face me alone, human," he said. The common tongue of this world had not been difficult to learn, and it was surprising how many of the varied races spoke it.

"It is you who is arrogant, demon," the human replied. "To come out from your fortifications and walk this land alone. It is not wholly a domain of the Scourge, not while those with the strength to fight will not abandon it."

Rachondimus laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. "You are one of those red crusaders, then? I slaughtered a war party of your kindred not two hours ago. Ah, how they screamed as I fed!"

"No. I am a paladin of the Order of Turalyon, from lands far to the south. On your journey north the path of your destruction did not go unnoticed, and I was dispatched to find and destroy you."

Rachondimus gave a roar of rage and charged at the paladin. He despised servants of the Light with a passion exceeded only by his desire to see all life destroyed. It would bring him great pleasure when this fool was pulped flesh beneath his talons, but for now his bloodlust whipped him into a blind frenzy.

The paladin booted his mount into motion and ducked low in the saddle, shifting to grip his great hammer with both hands as he prepared for a mighty swing. Just before they clashed the paladin leapt from his mount, hammer held high overhead and beginning a powerful downward swing. Rachondimus slipped away from the blow with unholy speed and lashed out with a taloned fist, not at the staggering paladin but at the human's mount. His claws caught the beast along the shoulder and neck, rending the flesh deep, and the animal gave a scream and fled.

When he turned back to the paladin the human had a great tome in one hand, reading from it, and a moment later a painfully bright seal inscribed itself in the air above the human's head. With a low murmur the human tucked the book away and gripped the hammer in both hands once more. "Come, demon."

Rachondimus was more than happy to oblige. "The Light will not save you," he snarled as he leapt forward and lashed out with a clawed hand.

As holy and unholy energies clashed the Paladin's cries to the Light could be heard even from the hilltop which overlooked the scene. It was a tall hill that peaked in a ten foot cliff, at the edge of which another human stood aloof, leaning against a diseased tree and looking down at the battle darkly.

The watching human was young by human standards, with less than two decades of life in his experience. His face and body were thin, almost skeletal, ravaged by who knew what terrible forces. His sunken eyes were shadowed, pools of blackness even though directly exposed to the tainted sun of the Plaguelands. In one hand he held a dagger which pulsed with chromatic light that gave no radiance, and he watched the battle between demon and plate-clad human with utter detachment.

The demon gave a cry, and to his hand from the abyss was summoned a spectral whip, glowing translucent with reddish energy. The whip moved of its own volition to wrap around the paladin's throat, finding its search for skin to sear foiled by the gorget there.

The gorget smoked as the reddish flames licked at it, but the paladin seemed unscathed by the attack. He swung his mighty hammer, its thorium head gleaming purely in the tainted light, and it struck the demon in the side with a crunch that could not be heard so much as felt.

The demon gave a cry of rage and leapt back, giving the whip a violent pull. The paladin staggered, and with another tug the demon pulled him to the ground and rested its great clawed foot atop the Paladin's armored chest. Then the demon reached down with a vile hand to pull the helmet off the human's head, or perhaps simply to rip the head itself from the human's shoulders. The paladin struggled mightily, his gauntleted hands scrabbling on the horny skin of the demon's leg to try to dislodge it, but his efforts were to no avail.

It was at this moment that the young human on the hill flipped his chromatic dagger in his hand to hold it by the tip, and with two quick steps forward to the very edge of the cliff flung the weapon at the demon's exposed back. The dagger seemed to grow as it flew across the hundreds of feet that separated the hilltop and the fierce battle below. Or perhaps the chromatic light radiating from it merely gave that illusion. But by the time it reached the demon it appeared to be a ball of rainbow light that struck the mane of darkness that flowed down the demon's back and passed through.

The demon gave a great roar of pain and staggered, and in that moment the paladin succeeded in throwing the enormous weight of the demon's leg off his chest. He rolled twice onto his hands and knees and with a great heave pushed himself to his feet. His hammer still rested below the demon's talons, and though the creature roared in agony and clawed at its back the Paladin dared not come near without his weapon.

Atop the hill the young human had leapt off the cliff and was now rushing down the slope with astonishing speed, maneuvering over and between the stones and boulders of the rocky slope with ease. As he ran he drew darkness into his hands, focal point for a magic that would drain the demon of its demonic energy. He would have vastly preferred to have simply destroyed the magic, thus harming the demon in the process, but he would need the demon's own strength in this battle, even if the paladin did manage to be of some use.

He had the murder of Lynda the Demonologist, the person he hated most in the world, to avenge.

Twenty yards away from Rachondimus he skidded to a halt and let his spell lance out, striking the demon in the chest and creating a conduit between them through which the demon's power surged into him. The conduit manifested as a ribbon of energy, blacker than black, and the young human gritted his teeth at the nauseating feel of that tainted power within him. He was draining the powerful creature's magic fast, but not fast enough.

The nathrezim gave a roar of rage and whirled on him, forgetting the paladin. The massive leathery wings fanned out and with a hop the demon was gliding towards him smoothly, eyes burning in a pale face. The human broke off the spell and drew another dagger from his pocket, which he held before him in a mad, or impossibly brave, charge straight towards the dreadlord.

Rachondimus gave a bellow of amusement an instant before they struck, its huge wings wrapping around the nimble human to trap him in. the human ignored the wings, dodged around the tearing claws, and planted the dagger deep into the dreadlord's chest. The demon gave a cry of pain and rage and its clawed hands closed around the human's shoulders, preparing to literally rip it apart. Before it could the human placed both hands against the demon's chest, to either side of the enchanted dagger that was already smoking and hissing its way through the foul skin. Through those hands he unleashed much of the power he had stolen in a devastating spell to seek out the magic which remained within the demon and burn it away.

If the dagger caused the demon some minor pain and irritation, this solid blow made the demon roar out. For just an instant it was stunned by the pain, and then its gripping fingers dug into the human's flesh and it heaved with all its might.

Its clawed hands slipped away, as did its teeth when the Nathrezim tried to bite its prey. For a moment the demon stood confused, and then it slowly turned towards the paladin. Sure enough the paladin had called upon the Light to wrap an impermeable shield around the young human, and he had retrieved his hammer and was charging to attack.

Within the bubble the human's face was a grimace of animal ferocity. He did not look at all relieved by the timely aid the paladin had given. If anything the divine protection which surrounded him made him mad with rage. He was tearing at it with his fingers, launching spells at it desperately. But a paladin's shield was one of the greatest defenses in his holy arsenal, protecting the person within against all harm until the strength of the paladin's prayer, dependent on his faith, gave way and the shield faded. It was said that Uther the Lightbringer had once held such a shield for nearly an hour, protecting the body of Lothar from the orcish hordes until aid could arrive. But perhaps that was simply a legend.

All the human knew was that he did not mean to be trapped in this holy prison for an hour. If such was even possible. The demonlord was once again using its whip to great effect, the flickering tongue of flame slowing the paladin's charge and frustrating his efforts to call upon the light to direct holy attacks against his enemy.

Finally the human within the shield focused all his power into the point of another enchanted dagger and drove the weapon forward into the shield. The protective Light burst like a bubble, sending him sprawling. He landed like a cat and immediately charged the demon, giving a terrifying howl. He had faced many demons despite his young years. Had been hunted by them, tormented by them, wounded in both body and soul. Now he was the hunter.

The demon became aware of him and turned to direct a swarm of carrion insects his way, a swarm that would have scoured the flesh off a cow within minutes, but the young human ducked mid-charge and struck the ground with one fist. A wave of fiery energy rippled out from his hand, consuming the approaching swarm, and then the human was back on his feet. By this time the paladin had come in range to strike with his hammer, and the demon's concentration was for moments wholly on the plate-clad man. In this time the young human stretched out his hand and sent out a ribbon of razor energy at the demon's head. Though much of the attack was resisted by the powerful demon some of the magic broke through, flaying at Rachondimus's mind like a many-pronged whip. It slowed the demon just enough that the paladin could land a blow that knocked it sprawling.

The paladin leapt forward and smashed the hammer down on the struggling demon's chest, crushing it back into the ground. A moment later the younger human darted in and drove his enchanted dagger deep into the demon's throat. Rachondimus gave a ghastly roar, all the more horrifying for the tortured pain within it, and the young human withdrew the rapidly dissolving dagger and buried it in again at a different spot in the demon's flesh. A moment later the paladin's hammer smashed down on the demon's head, and with that last mighty blow the dreadlord went still.

The paladin gave a sigh and sank to his knees, clutching the hammer in both hands as much for support as in caution. The young human's breath was coming in sharp, ragged pants, and though he remained on his feet he swayed as if at any moment he would fall flat on his face.

Now that the battle was over the paladin got a good look at the lad's face, and was surprised that his unexpected ally had had the strength to fight with such ferocity. The boy before him was emaciated, skeletal even, his face drawn and haggard. His skin was as pale and papery as if it had not seen the sun in all his lifetime, and the veins which showed through that ragged flesh were red rather than blue. His hair was black as coal with a hint of red in it, and his eyes were black as coal as well, though the red in them had nothing natural to it.

He took a step back from the boy, recalling uneasily just what powers the youngster had brought to bear in the battle. The powers of a priest turned to darkness, and the powers of a warlock. He hissed in a breath and tightened his grip on his warhammer, on the verge of leaping up to attack the sickly youth, when sudden disgust filled him at his own thoughts. Whatever the boy's nature, the fact remained that his intervention had turned the tide of the battle. Without it, the paladin would likely be dead right now.

So he straightened wearily and extended a hand. "I owe you my thanks, friend. Your aid came right at the perfect time."

The boy looked at the proffered gauntlet with a mixture of distaste and wariness, like one would gaze at a viper. Then his eyes raised to meet the paladin's and in spite of himself the paladin felt his flesh crawl. Looking into them so directly, he saw a lifetime of pain crammed into the body of a young man coming into his prime. There was a disconcerting deadness to them, as if that pain had stolen away his soul and left nothing in its place.

"I considered letting the demon have you, but decided I could not defeat it without an ally. I have seen the power of the Dreadlord Rachondimus before." That gaze continued to bore into him as the boy continued, his words flat and emotionless. "If you had died before the battle ended I would have been just as pleased."

The paladin gritted his teeth, but all the same he could not take back his thanks now that it was given. "All the same you did aid me." He looked at the boy's shoulders, which had been deeply gouged by the demon's claws and now sent spidery trails of blood down his arms to drip off his hands into the plagued ground they stood on. "At least let me heal your wounds before we part ways."

The boy flinched as if threatened with physical harm and a hand went into his cloak, likely for another of his enchanted daggers. The black in his eyes started to burn to a dull crimson, like coals fanned to flame. "Keep your Light away from me," he said flatly. "You'll wound me worse than the demon ever did." The paladin gaped at him with horror, unable to think of what corruption could fill the boy's flesh that the cleansing Light would harm him. Even the Forsaken undead found healing by the Light. The boy seemed to realize he had said too much and closed his mouth tight, lips pressed into a pale line in his haggard face.

With another distrustful glance at the paladin he dropped into a cross-legged sitting position right where he'd been standing, reached into his cloak and pulled out rolls of bandages and a bottle of some sort of healing cream, and began to tend his wounds. When next he spoke his voice was almost offhand. "You're bleeding from your right arm, paladin. Do you need bandaging?"

The paladin looked at his arm with surprise, seeing the blood dripping from the joins in his gauntlet. "Thank you, no." He called upon the Light and felt its gentle touch start to slide over his wounded arm, then abruptly stop. It was shock as much as weariness that made him stagger, and he found himself once more on his knees. The fight had taken more out of him than he thought. He gave a low laugh and nodded. "Perhaps I do, after all." He pulled off his gauntlet and bracer to reveal the cut, which was festering as if with acid, or disease.

He heard a light footfall and lifted his head to see the boy approaching. The boy looked at his arm with a frown, then hovered a hand over it. The paladin felt jolting pain spasm his muscles, almost to the point of cramps, but where the boy's hand passed the festering faded. He looked at the boy in surprise. "I didn't think you the type to know healing magic," he said frankly.

The boy shrugged and began bandaging his wounds. "I don't. I know demons, and Dreadlords give nasty diseases when their claws rend flesh." Yet despite what he said his own wounds showed no sign of festering.

The paladin looked at him for a moment in quiet appraisal, then cleared his throat. "I'm Puros Lightfinder, Paladin of the Order of Turalyon."

"I am Nex'thanarak. If you do not know the origin language it is demonic, and the closest translation would be "all-encompassing nothingness". You may call me Nex, or nothing. I hunt demons."

Puros at first thought the boy was giving him a choice between using the name Nex, or no name at all, then realized that Nothing would be a shortened form of the name he had given, translatable from Nex. "A grim name."

Nex finished binding his wounds and used a dagger to cut the remainder of the bandaging off, which he threw offhandedly to Puros. "Take care, paladin. The Plaguelands are perilous enough without going hunting for demons."

Puros pushed to his feet and called for him to stop. "You need rest, Nex. You look as if you'll fall over from exhaustion at any moment. Perhaps we can travel together in these dangerous lands, share protection."

Nex turned his head to glance back at him and smiled, and for the first time Puros saw that the boy's upper canines were the longest he had ever seen on a human. "Your Light may not have properly sustained you through the battle, paladin. But I've just fed well on demonic magic."

He turned and trotted away, ducking around a rotted mushroom that was easily twelve feet tall and disappearing. Puros glanced after the boy, troubled in spite of himself. He had long fought evil, seeking the Light to grow strong enough to protect his people from all danger, be it undead, orcish, demonic, or any other. Yet that boy of scarce a score of years was likely near his equal, and wielded dark magics that reeked of demonic taint. He counted his duty to purge such from the world, and yet Nex had claimed he hunted demons, and surely backed up his claim by taking a great part in killing the Dreadlord Rachondimus. What was more he had, while professing indifference, shown true concern for the disease tainting Puros's own wound, and by some means had drawn the power to cleanse it from the tainted pool of stolen demonic magic residing within him.

It was a mystery, and a troubling one. Puros could not think how to judge the boy. Such was the stewardship of the Archbishop Benedictus, within the Cathedral in Stormwind.

With a weary sigh he straightened and slung his warhammer over one shoulder, looking around for any sign of Honor, his war charger. Had the battle not been so fierce he would have sought a way to aid his faithful steed, but he feared that by now the wounded stallion would have fallen victim to the carrion eaters of this foul land. Still, dead or alive he couldn't leave the faithful beast to be mauled by plagued monstrosities.

But before he could begin his grim search another unpleasant task awaited him. With a sigh he made his way over to the demon's foul corpse. Its stench had been foul while alive, and now that it was dead rot was quickly spreading across its tainted flesh. With a grimace he began poking around for any dangerous objects he should take away with him to be cleansed, lest they fall into the wrong hands. As he did so he realized to his dismay that the Dreadlord's weapon, that great fiery whip which fairly blazed with demonic power, was no longer on the corpse.

Of course the weapon had been summoned, so the death of its master might have released it back to the twisting nether. He very much hoped that was the case, and that the boy had not been foolish enough to take a demon's weapon. Such a cursed item was as likely to turn on its new wielder as not.

. . . . .

In fact Nex had done just that, and was at that moment dealing with that very problem. Though he had dealt with demonic artifacts before, they had all been mere trinkets compared to the whip wielded by the Dreadlord Rachondimus. It showed a feral sentience, no less frightening for being mute, and a great power.

It was currently trying to wrap around his throat and sear his flesh to the bone. His demon skin protected him from a portion of the heat, so he could grab the flaming lash without burning his hand off, but still it was taking all his concentration and strength and both hands to keep the thing at bay. It wriggled and struggled like an iron snake in his hands, coiling and audibly hissing, yet even the physical struggle could not match the battle in his mind.

It was as if a portion of Rachondimus's malignant will remained within the whip. With all his mind turned to the task of keeping it at bay he could hold it down, but to keep up such a struggle would make it impossible to use the whip as a weapon in battle. If he could not subdue its rebellion it would be more a danger than a useful weapon in any future conflit.

Yet he knew its nature well enough. As with all demonic artifacts, and all demonkind, its will was to destroy, pure and simple. If he could but show he was too strong for it to overpower, and at the same time make it aware of the carnage he would wreak with it, it would never again pose a true danger to him.

Although with a demonlord's weapon, he would pose a true danger to any enemies he met.

Easy as it sounded, it took him several hours to subdue the thing, and by the end of it he almost wished he could have faced Rachondimus again. He was finally forced to kneel on either end of the whip and hold the middle with both hands, while he turned all his thoughts towards showing the whip the demons he had already killed, as well as numerous undead and plagued creatures of the surrounding area, and would-be highwaymen and thugs in the lands he had hunted the Dreadlord through. Then he had to show the demonic thing how, with it in his hands, he would wreak an even greater devastation. The whip had no qualms about being used primarily against demons; it was Nex's strength it questioned.

Finally, Nex was forced to show it just how much strength he truly possessed. It was a move he was hesitant to take, lest the whip should ever be reclaimed by a demon he would then have to fight. But the gain outweighed the risk, and after he'd revealed the roiling chaos within himself the battle lasted only a few more exhausting seconds before the whip relented. He sensed the sentient weapon was even more spent than he, which was a relief. For although he had little need of physical rest and almost no need for sleep, after such battles as the ones he had just fought he needed a period of trance-like "rest" to recover his power.

He did not relish the hour or so he would be forced to endure as his mind regained balance and his body restored its strength. Such was the curse, if not of his heritage than of his upbringing, yet curse it he did. With weary steps he made for the hills, finding a crevice within a cliff which would shelter him somewhat. He lit a fire at its mouth, found a heavy rock to put on top of his fel whip, and then slumped to the ground and stared at the fire.

Finally, it was done. He had put off thinking of everything but his hunt for a long, long while, but the nature of his memories did not lend themselves to anything so kind as forgetfulness.

He had heard a human deep in his cups say something once. A veteran of the Second Orcish War, grizzled and brutal, the man had led an assault against the vile Twilight's Hammer clan, the orcs which formed the bulk of the Horde's warlocks and necrolytes. Whatever the man had seen in that assault, it had been vile enough to drive him to constant drink. But nothing except for oblivion could dull his memories.

He had told the room at large that some memories were so terrible that the mind patched over them like a bandage, allowing blessed forgetfulness. But there were memories, more terrible still, that burned themselves too deeply to be blocked out or forgotten. Nex hadn't been certain what the old man was saying at first, because all of his memories seemed too terrible to block out or forget. An entire lifetime of such memories.

And when he was forced to rest to regain his strength, those memories came upon him like waking life, forcing him to endure living through them again and again. Small wonder he did not rest unless it was absolutely necessary.

But now he was greatly spent, and the purpose that had driven away his inner demons was done. The demon lord which had slain Lynda the Demonologist and chased him from his home was destroyed, and he could think of no compelling purpose to replace it with. Only a horrifying past to hold at bay.

He fought the trance that teased at him, the waking dreams which would torment him while his demonic powers recuperated. For a time he was able to focus completely on the fire before him, watching the flames in a different kind of trance. But at the last his gaze fell deep enough within the burning that he could see the point where the hot blue flames at the base faded to red, saw the process take place in great detail as time seemed to slow...


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

The Demonologist

_...which were something he had never seen before._

_He stared curiously at the circle of candles. White candles, tall and smooth, capped by flames of many colors. A tinge of blue at the base, rising to an orange-white, and at the flickering tips nearly red. They must surely be rare and wondrous, for he had never seen their like before in all of Lynda's summonings and rituals._

_He glanced furtively over at the demonologist, hunched over her table of reagents and ingredients. She was working busily at some concoction, and by the set of her shoulders she seemed to be in a good mood. He could probably get away with a question or two. "Mistress, what manner of candles are these?"_

_The Demonologist knocked over a freestanding vial as she turned, and gave a vile curse. Nex wilted against the wall, instantly and deeply regretting his foolishness. "Candles, Nothing? _Candles? _Sixteen years you've lived, and you're still such a fool you cannot recognize a simple candle?" Nex looked away, sullen and resentful but not foolish enough to try to correct his mistake. He wasn't stupid; he knew what candles were. He'd seen the blue flames which summoned a voidwalker, the green flames which called a felhound. The red flames which called a succubus, and the purple flames which called forth a lesser felguard._

_Outside of the summoning rituals he saw little light. Lynda lit her room with magical light, or at least she had the few times he'd been allowed (or perhaps more accurately compelled) to attend her there. Otherwise unless he wished to create his own light he let the darkness wrap around him. Obstacles were no trouble to his second sight, and at first the light was harsh against his eyes. Of course he didn't feel any safer in the dark than in the light; nowhere was he safe._

_Lynda took a step forward, expression flickering from annoyance to exasperation. "Well, boy? Are you dumb as well as slow? Do you not know a candle when you've seen one?"_

_Nex licked his lips nervously. "I know candles, mistress. I know the colors to summon the different demons, and what process to undergo to create candles which will produce those colors. But I've never seen this sort of flame before. What kind of demon are we summoning?"_

_A broad spectrum of emotions flickered across the Demonologist's face very quickly. Nex likely would have missed half of them if he hadn't schooled himself to detect the slightest change in her mood. Surprise, anger, disbelief, amusement, contempt. It shifted through all of these, and settled on contempt. "Stupid boy. There's nothing special about these candles. The poorest, meanest peasant in the most humble village prepares her meals to just this sort of light. They are not here as part of the ritual, simply placed as visual indicators of the matrix focal points. This is because we're not summoning a specific demon. We're doing something far more ambitious than that."_

_Nex looked down at the circle chalked on the ground in unfamiliar patterns. The candles. The reagents. The souls of over a dozen humans trapped in tainted shards, piled haphazardly on the table for use in the ritual. Not only that, but some of Lynda's greatest objects of power were laid out carefully, ready to be consumed to fuel the process. It was obviously a summoning of some sort, but if not for demons then what? He wasn't foolish enough to ask the question, of course, but his face must have betrayed him. In some ways, the Demonologist knew him as well as he knew her._

"_No, fool, we're not summoning some other creature. What, did you hope I'd call in a human to be your friend?" Her laughter should not have stung, but it did, perhaps all the more because she knew it. "We're creating a beckoning portal to a demonic realm I have high hopes for. It will not capture some specific type of demon and bring it to Azeroth, as other summonings will. It is an invitation, calling out to powerful demons who might wish to step through. And because it is an invitation to Azeroth, powerful demons will come."_

_Nex felt a thrill of terror ripple through him. "An open gate, Mistress? Surely not even you have the power to-" Lynda gestured, and he went rigid as his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth. The cavernous chamber went perfectly silent save for the soft whisper of silk slippers on stone as Lynda walked around the preparations in the center of the room. She moved at a leisurely place, and with every step he pushed himself harder against the rough stone at his back, wishing he had the courage to bolt for the door. When she reached him she did not strike out, as he'd feared. Instead she stretched forth her hand and caressed his cheek._

"_Nex-thanarak shubar'tarul akhet, ni-thanarak ovi'nex," she purred in demonic. _You are nothing. Drawn from the nothingness, you remain so, and into nothingness will you return. _It was his full name, which she had spoken to him so often that he could read it on her lips in absolute darkness with his eyes closed and his ears stopped. "You are a part of me, Nex. Created to be an extension of my power. Even the greatest casters upon this earth have limits, but you free me of mine. You are my eye, my hand, my tongue. You will bring your power to bear alongside mine, and together we will summon the greatest demon we have ever encountered under my control."_

_Still caressing his cheek, she leaned forward and kissed his brow. Nex forced himself not to shudder in revulsion. As a baby he had been raised by imps. His earliest memory was of a trio of them cackling as they subjected him to some mindless torment, taunting him and prodding him. Demons were incapable of affection or kindness, and so he understood them perfectly. But when Lynda the Demonologist had in the past embraced him, caressed his skin, tousled his hair, it had always filled him with terror. It taunted him with a vision of a new sort of torment, one that he could only bring upon himself through allowing himself to become vulnerable._

_He barely knew what humanity was, but he could not afford to perceive Lynda in that light. He recalled doing so in his youngest years, and being rewarded only with the deepest griefs of his young life when she showed herself to be more terrible than the demons she set to tormenting him. The demons had limits set to their cruelties, and dared not anger their mistress by exceeding them. But the mistress had no such limits imposed on her, by a higher authority or her own decency._

_So he responded to her actions as he would have were she a succubus, and treated her touch as he would have an attack. When she finally stepped away he felt nothing but relief. "Take your position there," she said, pointing, "and be prepared. This will tax you to your limits and beyond, as few experiences have."_

_Nex was already certain of that, and had been before ever entering the summoning chamber. In the past the only times Lynda had allowed him to rest and recover his strength had been before subjecting him to the ministrations of a new kind of demon, one usually more powerful and terrible than the ones he had learned to destroy previously. A whole month she had given him of blissful peace, her and her minions ignoring him completely. It was the longest amount of time he'd ever been given._

_In sudden fear he wondered if she meant to consume him completely in opening this portal. She esteemed him not at all, so it would be no sacrifice as long as the effort succeeded. As he plodded dully to his appointed place his pulse quickened until his heart was hammering in his chest, worse even than during the terrible slide down the slick tunnel into the Pit where his demons awaited him. He had thought many times that death would be a welcome escape, but to be suddenly faced with the prospect filled him with terror. He felt bile rising in his throat, and feared he was going to retch right there and earn himself a whipping. But he would be alive to be whipped, perhaps for another hour._

_Before his panic could rise any higher logic intervened. She had groomed him to be an extension of her power, and only her drive to build her power to ever-greater heights was greater than her utter contempt of him. She would not be content with a single summoning, a single greater demon captured. She would need him for every step higher up the slope of power. He would only become truly useless to her when she had such a powerful demon in her thrall that his own power was trivial in comparison._

_Since he did not know his own limits, it was possible that such would never be the case. He had yet to encounter a demon he could not best, and with each encounter he grew more powerful. Perhaps he would always be the most coveted weapon in her arsenal. Perhaps one day he would even surpass her._

_He shied away from that taunting notion, horrified that she would catch even a hint that he'd been thinking such a thought. Ambition was an emotion he'd almost never toyed with; always before he had struggled merely to survive, with no thought for changing his station. If the Demonologist saw such a thing in him she would destroy him, as surely as she would an unruly imp._

_His tongue suddenly sagged back down to its usual resting place, free and under his control once more. "Focus, Nothing," Lynda snapped. "The slightest misstep will kill you now. And worse, kill me." She shoved a parchment into his hands, on which was inscribed in writhing runes a convoluted incantation. It was by far the highest ranking he had ever seen. He wondered if he could successfully complete it, and what would happen if he failed._

"_Go slow," he heard her say. "I will join you after the _kot'at'nex_."_

"_Yes, mistress," he murmured. It was the nature of many higher incantations that the mind could not hold onto them as they were being cast, and so must be read. Nex had yet to encounter such an incantation, but he knew the theory behind them; slow, and perfect. It had to be perfect. With a deep breath he went through a series of exercises to ensure his throat was clear and his tongue limber. Then he spoke the first word of the incantation._

_The parchment in his hands blazed, and searing agony drilled its way into his skull. He fought back a gasp and forced his eyes to stay open. Tears swam at the edges of his vision, falling freely, but he ignored them and spoke the second word. The pain increased. From the corner of his eye he saw Lynda placing the stolen souls at their appointed places around the circle. Quietly, so as not to interrupt him, she muttered an invocation over one of her objects of power, causing it to crumble to dust in her cupped hands. With infinite care she began sprinkling the dust over the circle. Nex spoke the third word._

_The pain behind his eyes became a molten spike, and it was all he could do not to cry out. He clenched his teeth around the noise in terror; to make the slightest sound other than the proper words of the incantation would alter the spell in ways he couldn't begin to imagine. Ways he didn't want to imagine. He spoke the fourth word, just barely avoiding biting off the last syllable as he clenched his teeth around an involuntary scream. He had been expecting the pain to jump, but even so it had caught him by surprise._

_Word after agonizing word he spoke, as Lynda consumed the stolen souls and objects of power and fed them into the growing vortex of power. The blurring around his eyes became pink, then red, and when he looked down at the collar of his coarse shirt he saw it was damp with blood. He was having trouble focusing on the words through the haze of pain, and at last took a chance and released the parchment with one hand long enough to wipe his sleeve over his eyes. He spoke the next word._

"_Nex," he panted, and Lynda was there beside him, her hands closing over his and forcing them open, taking the scroll from him. He saw that the parchment was torn where his grip and been too tight, and near the bottom a few drops of blood had splattered, nearly obscuring the words. He jerked his head back before such a disastrous thing could happen again._

"Metol_," Lynda said clearly, intoning the next word, and he nearly sobbed in relief as the pain behind his eyes diminished. He could feel the Demonologist beside him visibly stiffen as she took on part of the strain of the incantation. He looked, and saw to his dismay that they were less than a third of the way down the scroll. Her elbow slammed into his ribs, and he hastily spoke the next word, and she the one after that._

_By the time they reached the middle of the page both were on their knees. Lynda was panting after every word. It was not just the pain, of course; power was flowing out of Nex like water through a sieve, and the farther they got the swifter it drained from him. Lynda was, if anything, faring even worse, for she had likely never suffered the rigors he endured regularly. A fear began to dance in his mind that this attempt would consume him after all, no matter what Lynda's intentions or future plans had been. He wondered if she had known the full scope of the spell they were attempting._

_Yet on they pressed, word by word, then syllable by syllable. Lynda collapsed with only a handful of words to go, and would have upset the circle if he had not caught her and pulled her away. So he was left, alone, to finish the incantation, panting for excruciating minutes after each word, biting back a scream every time he opened his mouth. The vortex of raw power being shaped in the circle before them had grown until it nearly touched his outstretched hands, and he had to pull the parchment back from it. Finally, deciding that anything was better than this torment, even failure and death, Nex gathered all his strength and will and shouted out the last words in a rush. Then he, too, collapsed._

_But he did not pass out._

_. . . . ._

_Within the circle the roiling vortex of energy stiffened and solidified into a stable portal. An eerie wailing emanated from it, and a terrible stench carried on noxious vapours. His second sight warned him of fel energies, and the taint of demonic creatures. An impossible distance away, far out on some world in the Great Dark Beyond, and yet nearly within reach of his fingers. In reach, were it not a one-way portal, from which demons could come to Azeroth and never return to their own world._

_The pain was gone, and even though Nex was on the point of death his resilience saw him to his knees. Having endured torture that brought him to the brink of death on many occasions served this purpose, at least; while he was alive, he was capable of action._

_He fumbled through the Demonologist's robes and found a small ceremonial knife, not even as long as his hand but wicked sharp. It was inscribed with runes, but their purpose would not aid him in this situation. With a bit more fumbling he found a leftover shard from one of her objects of power. It took all his concentration, but he managed to imbue the shard into the knife with his favorite enchantment: one that would make this knife formidable against demons._

_Then he pushed himself to one knee with the knife held protectively before him, gathered his strength, and filled his lungs with air. "Fiends!" he roared in demonic at the portal. "Succubi, incubi, demon hounds! Before you lies a portal to Azeroth, coveted by the Burning Legion! Let he who is greatest among you step forward, and punish us mere mortals for our insolence!"_

_Almost immediately a shape materialized in the portal. Nex lunged, driving the dagger in before the creature came all the way through. He heard a demented snarl and a snake-like tendril whipped out at him, but he was ready for it and caught it with his free hand, yanking on it with all his might as he pivoted smoothly. The felhound flew out of the portal, yipping in surprise and pain. Its other mana tentacle darted for his head, but he let go before it could reach him, sending the demon sailing across the room to slam into the wall. It struggled to its feet, dripping gore from a vicious wound in its throat._

_Nex flipped the tiny dagger towards it, and the demonslaying enchantment on it blazed to sullen red light as it flew. His aim was true, and the dagger embedded itself in the felhound's eye. The creature gave another tortured yelp, struggled forward on weakening limbs, and then went still._

_He turned back to the portal, sagging to one knee as he did. "That was the greatest among you? I'll feast on its flesh and wear its pelt, and when this portal closes laugh at the cowardice of the Burning Legion!"_

_His challenge would have one of two outcomes. If there was a greater demon present it would command the others back and come forward. If not, the portal would be overwhelmed with lesser demons and he'd probably have to abandon the summoning chamber, dragging Lynda with him._

_He needn't have worried about the second outcome. Almost before the last word of his taunt was spoken a vast shadow filled the portal, carrying with it a smothering aura of demonic power. Its approach to this world was slow, suggesting that it was no lesser demon, or even one of the greater demons. He felt his throat dry as the aura washed over him, growing stronger every moment. "Mistress," he hissed. "How can the portal be closed?" Lynda made no reply, still slumped on the floor, her skin ashen and her breathing labored. The oppressive aura grew ever stronger; the demon drew near._

_In desperation he caught his mistress around the waist and heaved her onto his shoulder, staggering at her weight. Somehow in his weakened state he found the strength to carry her to the door, where he leaned her up against the wall and began firmly slapping her. Whatever his fear of her, the terror of the approaching demon was greater still. "Mistress, wake up! Wake up! _Wake up!_"_

_Her labored breathing caught, her eyes fluttered open, and her slack face assumed an expression of awe and wonder. Nex turned, dread clawing at his insides, to also look at the demon which emerged from the portal. Their portal, which had nearly killed them to create, was not enough for this presence. Its own power had infused the matrix, strengthening it and making it much, much larger._

_Two vast wings like a monstrous bat's spread out from the portal, and one massive taloned hoof fell heavily on the stone floor, making the cavern shudder. Then another foot appeared, and the creature emerged whole and terrible. It was tall, and broad, skin white as parchment with two massive black horns curling up from its forehead. Its ears too resembled a bat's large and pointed, and its canines jutted from its mouth to rest lightly against its lower jaw. Its massive wings unfurled, stretching from one end of the chamber to the other, and its hands with the long, razor claws clenched and unclenched as it turned towards them._

_Nex shrank back against the wall as the creature regarded them a sort of mocking triumph. He knew what stood before them, as anyone who studied demons closely must. Especially after the most recent incursion of the Burning Legion into Azeroth. He had read the tome scribed by Archmage Antonidus of the demonic races encountered at the battle for Mount Hyjal. He had memorized the tome of an orc shaman named Grok'thar who had studied the demonic corpses for any information which would give an advantage in future encounters. Even an ancient and often-copied treatise from a Night Elf Highborne long dead, who had fought in that first terrible war over the Well of Eternity. Dozens of other less prestigious scholars had penned tomes and treatises, and he had studied them all. Or at least all those Lynda could buy, barter for, or steal._

_There could be no doubt. His mistress had hoped to lure a greater demon to her, and had succeeded beyond her wildest dreams. And perhaps was fortunate that an even more terrible creature had not come forth, for the creature before them was one of the secret police of the Burning Legion, charged with interrogating any who fell into their hands. It was a job they excelled at, for causing torment and feeding upon the energy of mortals was the greatest joy of the nathrezim._

_Lynda, the Demonologist of Deadwind Pass, had summoned a dreadlord._

_. . . . ._

_The door was only a few feet away. They could escape quickly, before the nathrezim got its bearings. He summoned what power remained within him and stepped forward. "Run, Mistress," he said calmly. "I will cover our retreat."_

_With all his attention on the dreadlord before them, the sudden blow to the back of his head caught him completely by surprise. He staggered and went to both knees, turning to look with shock and rage at his mistress._

"_Stand aside, Nex!" she snarled. "Stand aside I say! This is my prize. MINE! I _earned_ it, and you will not take it from me."_

_Nex looked from the dreadlord looming above them to his mistress, torn between insane laughter and stark disbelief. She was pushing to her feet, and in her hands she held the shard of a stolen soul. Did she think she had the power to enslave a demon lord? Did she think she had the power to _survive_ a demon lord? The laughter escaped his slack lips, and madness overwhelmed his senses. Or perhaps it was a sudden ray of sanity in this hell. "He is yours to do with as you will, Mistress," he said amidst his mirth. Then he turned and fled. His last sight of the confrontation behind him came has he slammed the door on it. Lynda, near death from exhaustion and faltering, clutching the shard before her and muttering a weak spell. The nathrezim, able to understand the spell spoken in demonic as it hadn't their conversation, looking at her with evil amusement. Nex recalled reading that nathrezim liked to toy with their victims even after drawing all useful information from them. If the opportunity presented itself, toy with them for a long, long time._

_The door shut with a heartening thud. Not that he thought three inches of solid oak would hold back a demon lord. On this side of it there were brackets for four bars, all of them six inches thick and banded with steel. A thick heavy door with massive bars on the outside was a reasonable precaution for a summoning chamber, and he shoved them into place gratefully before fleeing down the passageway. Behind him, Lynda began to scream._

_He had been outside only a handful of times, and always bound, but he knew the way out of this hellhole. Up, always up, through a dizzying maze of corridors and passageways full of traps and pitfalls that served to deter would-be adventurers. He had no thought beyond abject terror and the desire to be far, far away from the evil below, but by luck or instinct he managed to navigate the traps in spite of his panic. After running for what seemed like hours he looked forward to be blinded by a ray of intense sunlight._

_He shied away with a cry of pain. He had never seen the sun, for the Demonologist's forays into the world outside always took place in the dead of night. Yet the pain of that light was mild compared to what he had suffered during the summoning, and the fear of what lay behind greater than the fear of what lay beyond. He staggered the last few loops of corridor towards the crack of blinding light that lay ahead, bursting free into a chill wind that howled mournfully through the canyon below._

_For a moment he sagged against the rock beside the cave's opening, too weary to go on. There was no way the huge nathrezim could have followed him through those narrow corridors anyway, so he felt safe enough. He had been resting long, however, before dull, heavy _thumps_ filled his ears from what seemed every direction. He looked up in dread to see a dark figure blotting out the sun._

"_Why do you flee to the daylight?" a powerful, resonant voice said in demonic. "The night beckons."_


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Betrayer

Nex lurched to his feet, gasping out a strangled cry. His fire had burned down to tiny embers and the night was all around him, eerily silent and filled with vile things. But there was something out there viler still.

Barely pausing to get his bearings he tore from his sheltered crevice and rushed down the plagued hill. Out in the dark a plaguehound snarled, but he gathered in his power without slowing and sent a blast of shadow energy out at it. He heard a frantic yip and saw a dark figure rushing away, but didn't spare even a second thought to it. The place of battle was just over the top of this hill, the same one he'd rushed down before. He skirted the cliff at the peak and came into view of the battlefield. All was dark and silent down there, and where he had slain Rachondimus a dark bulk rested.

Nex stared at the still form of the slain dreadlord, heart hammering. He was afraid to come any closer, certain Rachondimus was going to suddenly move to the attack, or that upon coming closer the dark shape would be revealed as a pile of rotted vegetation, the real dreadlord gone, alive and watching him from some dark peak of the mountains to the south.

Foolishness. From even his brief contact with humans Nex knew enough of human nature to know that they feared things that were not real. Feared things that didn't exist, or futures that would likely never happen. They themselves admitted that such fears were absurd, and yet still they feared, so strongly that at times their fears unmanned them.

Nex had never suffered from that difficulty. His reality held enough things to frighten him without his needing to conjure up absurd new ones. And even the worst future held fewer horrors than his past. So this irrational fear that had overcome him, that Rachimondus may still be alive, filled him with rage. He had driven an enchanted dagger into the demon's throat. He had watched the demon's head smashed in by the thorium head of a massive warhammer. The dreadlord that had hunted him, and which he in turn had hunted, was dead. It was as simple as that.

Feeding that anger into the core of bitterness that fueled him, he strode forward. The dark shape before him resolved itself into the skeletal remains of Rachondimus's form. No scavenger had dared come close enough to feed, but the unholy decay he had witnessed had progressed so far that only scraps of flesh remained. Even the bone was corroded and fragmenting in some places.

He was not afraid, which was why he was confused to find himself calling down fire to rain upon the corpse, charring the bones and turning the ground for ten yards in either direction to ash. He didn't have the strength to waste on such foolishness, and yet he maintained the spell while the ground melted and ran like glass, and the bones cracked and shattered and eventually fell away in splinters. The demonic taint of Rachondimus had persisted even after death, spreading into the ground as was the way of these foul creatures. But the flames scoured away that taint, nibbling at the last vestiges of it until he could no longer feel it, no matter how thoroughly he searched with his second sight.

Only after those last vestiges had faded did he realize that he still sensed a demonic presence.

He drew his power to him and looked around warily, seeking the source of the presence. It had a different feel than Rachondimus's, and he cursed himself for missing it when it first manifested. There, over near where the ground dipped into the vile ravine where the paladin had first appeared, a shadowy figure stood gazing at him. Nex drew one of his enchanted daggers slowly and drew more dark energy into himself. "Come to your oblivion, demon." He rasped, settling back into a defensive stance for when the demon charged.

From the shadows a low laugh emerged, and then the creature stepped forward, into the weak light of the moon.

Long, curved horns jutted from its forehead, black as ebony. From its shoulders large bat-like wings stretched out, then settled back around the figure like a cloak. The dark skin of its torso and arms was inscribed with demonic runes, down to where what could have been either fur or pants covered his legs. Fur, Nex guessed. He had never seen one of these creatures, but from his mother's description he guessed he was looking at a Satyr, one of those corrupted night elves remaining from the ancient demon wars.

He thought back to what he had been told of these creatures. They were tricksome and in their wicked way capable of mischief, but for the most part they were not particularly powerful or dangerous. At least compared to the greater demons.

Nex hefted his dagger, willing the demonslaying runes etched along its blade to life. A deep red glow that looked almost sickly in the light of the moon emanated from the runes. "It is time to end your foul existence, satyr."

The creature chuckled again, and raised one of its clawed hands. Nex felt impossible power gather in the creature, more than he had felt even within the demon Rachondimus. A tendril of that power snaked out almost lazily and extinguished the runes on the blade, while another wrapped around his tongue, silencing him. "I am no satyr, human." The creature said. "In fact, I have a lot more in common with you than I have with any demon or demon-kind. Sit."

Nex fought the command, but finally the will of his adversary drove him to his knees. There he remained. The creature nodded as if in approval and strode forward. As he approached the last burning bits of slag from the devastation Nex's spell had wrought flared to life with green-tinged flames, bathing the elven face in sickly light. Now Nex could see that what he had thought was fur was in fact pants of some black cloth, ending in booted feet. The top half of the creature's face, mainly its eyes, was tied with with black cloth as well, through which a greenish light far more brilliant than the fire lurked, barely hidden by the cloth. The creature ignored him for a moment, walking a long circle around the glassed area of the dreadlord's demise.

"Rachondimus," he hissed. "You were a trifle, but enough of a threat to draw my attention here. A pity my time was wasted." Those blindfolded eyes turned to stare at Nex, and he could almost feel the fire of that green gaze. He looked away quickly. "Or perhaps not," the corrupted night elf said with a laugh. It turned and strode back to where Nex knelt, struggling to free himself of the unholy bonds. "You slew this dreadlord, human?" he asked. He did not loosen Nex's tongue, or free his bonds, so Nex could only nod. "An admirable feat for a mayfly still fresh from the womb and yet already halfway to the grave."

Nex could say nothing to that. Literally, of course, but also figuratively. The creature before him appeared young, as much as could be judged behind the demonic features it possessed. And yet he sensed a vast and ancient power within it, augmented by a newer but still greater power. He knew little of night elves, and yet from an obscure reference in a treatise on the Battle of Mount Hyjal, written by a night elf sentinel and stolen by Lynda, he had an uncomfortable suspicion he knew the identity of the individual before him. The creature's next words confirmed his suspicion.

"You may hardly believe it, human, but I fight demons as you yourself do. What is more, I subscribe to your philosophy that only through wielding the demon's power can the Burning Legion be stopped." He laughed again, but this time there was no mirth to the gesture. "Or I should say you subscribe to my philosophy, for I have been around far, far longer than you. You may call me Stormrage."

Abruptly the power binding Nex's tongue was loosened. "I know the name," he said grudgingly. "You had my mistress's envy for consuming an artifact of such power as the Skull of Guldan, Illidan Stormrage."

Surprise flickered across the night elf's face. "Few even in Kalimdor knew me, and none since I have come to this land. Who is your mistress?"

Nex looked away. "She was known as Lynda the Demonologist."

A short, sharp bark of laughter escaped Illidan's lips. "I see. A greater surprise, that I know her as well, though only a few small tidbits. She is the one who foolishly summoned Rachondimus to this world, and fell to his power. A fitting end to the story, that her son has avenged her death."

Nex stiffened. "What do you know of me?" he demanded. "My...the Demonologist never even told _me_ of my heritage. I had to figure it out on my own, as I did so many things. How do you know?"

Illidan's upper lip curled in contempt. "The Burning Legion may seem like a force of mindless destruction, but it is in fact a very tightly-controlled army when you get to ranks higher than the fodder. Those who deal too closely with demons tend to be known by greater demons, and the information is passed among the officers of the Burning Legion. Your mother...well...let us say she took things a step farther than most. Hence you."

Nex still gripped his dagger. When he'd been rendered immobile he'd kept his grip on it. Now he shifted it in his hands, wanting more than anything to attack the creature before him. Foolish, likely suicidal, but his worst fears had just been confirmed. His hatred for all things demonic ran so deep that he had no other goal than to slay anything that carried that taint. Including himself, he sometimes thought.

No. His hatred of demons must be writ on every line of his face. Illidan had likely just found the thing he wanted least to hear and said it. Better to make him think he was one of them, with "more in common" with Illidan than he had thought. "What do you want, Stormrage?"

Illidan's bat-like wings stretched out to their full length, then curled back in slightly, as if he was preparing to take off. "I want you to calm yourself, to begin with. Then, when you're thinking a bit more clearly, I want you to consider my offer."

"Offer?"

"If you truly live to destroy demons, your purpose will forever remain frustrated. At best you'll roam Azeroth picking off minor fodder that survived the destruction of the demon lords and fled into hiding. Beyond that, there are things I know, that I could teach you, that would give you the power to face more powerful enemies than you could even dream of fighting at this time. If you swear yourself to me, I assure you you'll see an opportunity to sink those pretty knives of yours into greater demons, lieutenants of the Burning Legion. Even demon lords."

"As an enemy, or as a rival?" Nex spat out. The treatise he'd read had mentioned Stormrage as a betrayer, working in league with demons to create his own demonic army in opposition to the Burning Legion. Not to destroy them, but to replace them.

"As a master who will cleanse Azeroth of their taint. That is your ultimate goal, isn't it?" Before Nex could answer Illidan's wings shivered. "Don't answer now, when your blood is up and your emotions make your decisions. Consider my offer carefully, and have an answer when I return. If you accept, well and good. If you refuse, we go our separate ways."

Nex highly doubted that, but he said nothing. With another low laugh Illidan crouched, then with a mighty spring threw himself into the air. His wings beat powerfully downwards, shooting him up even higher and faster. The green flames Illidan had raised from the ashes of Nex's spell faded away, and when they were completely gone so too was Illidan. Nex sought out carefully, with both his second sight and his eyes, but he saw nothing. "Damnit," he whispered.

It was his own stupid fault. A slain dreadlord is going to draw the attention of powerful creatures in any case, and he wasn't too far from the dread Scourge city of Stratholme. As soon as he'd slain Rachondimus he should have fled as far and as fast as he could. What he should _not_ have done was returned and lit a massive pyre to signal his location to everyone in the Plaguelands. If he tried to escape now he would find himself hunted, if not by Illidan himself then by his minions. Enemies with power comparable to demon lords did not take kindly to being refused.

If he stayed, he would find himself in the service of a creature that lusted after demonic power, one who likely would become as vile as the demons themselves, if he was not already so. And yet Stormrage was for the moment an enemy of the Burning Legion. The treatise had mentioned his slaying of the Demon Lord Tichondrius. The reason Stormrage had consumed the Skull of Gul'dan in the first place, if not to increase his power, had been so he would have the power to slay that demon.

What he said was likely true, that if Nex wanted the chance to fight demons of any real power his best option was to accept the offer and become one of Illidan's minions. There was, too, the fact that if Illidan's philosophies matched those of the Burning Legion then he too would eventually need to be destroyed. If Nex was his lieutenant then an opportunity might present itself. And if Illidan truly was an enemy who had no goal other than the Burning Legion's destruction, Nex would be only too happy to serve him.

Of course, there was the chance that working under such a dangerous master he might quickly end up dead. But that was just a bonus.

In any case whatever his decision, it was best he made it a long ways from here. If one powerful enemy could find him, another could. There were dreadlords in Stratholme, and they'd recognize the death of one of their own. He turned and sprinted for the crevice he'd made camp in. Against most foes he might have decided to go even farther south into the mountains, climbing up and over them to get into Alterac. But if he was being tracked by dreadlords, or Stormrage if it came to confrontation, it would be better to _not_ be somewhere where his movements would be limited and their ability to fly would give them an advantage.

West, then, to Chillwind Pass. Remnants of Lordaeron's army were sure to be stationed there, but he'd find a way around and through. He just needed to retrieve his whip and he could be on his way. And if Stormrage cared enough to find him he would. He ran lightly up the slope leading to his crevice, threw the rock away and picked up his whip.

And dropped it again when pain blossomed in his shoulder, numbing his left arm.

. . . . .

He sagged to the ground, clutching the wound, and found a dagger there of unfamiliar make, coated with dark poison. His demon skin had absorbed some of the blow and was fighting the poison's spread, but still he felt weak, every motion slowed and halting.

A harsh female voice addressed him in an unfamiliar language similar to elvish, but more flowing and liquid. He had no idea what she was saying, but guessed it was an order to remain still. He complied after a fashion, turning his head just enough to see two women in long purple cloaks with longbows trained on him, flanking another woman in heavy armor, her cloak's edge studded with dozens of small daggers. He wondered what would happen to those daggers if she spun quickly.

Their skin was dark and their ears long and pointed. Night Elves. It amused him that he'd never before seen a Night Elf, but in less than an hour's time he'd had the honor of encountering four. Such was his luck. Although probably not a coincidence.

The armored woman barked out another command in her tongue, then paused and spoke again in heavily accented common. "Stand away from your weapon and turn towards us."

Nex carefully pulled the poisoned dagger free and dropped it to the ground, coming to his feet with his arms held to his sides carefully. Still the woman in heavy armor must have seen some threat. Arcane energy gathered around her, and next he knew she was in front of him, having covered nearly twenty feet without actually crossing the distance. A weapon she must have hidden beneath her cloak was pressed to his throat, a loop of metal of razor sharpness with a few protruding jags, with only a small span of metal wrapped in rawhide which her slender hand held in an iron grip.

"Any last words before you die, demon?" she whispered. Her voice would have had a musical quality if not for its harshness. It was the rough edge of someone who had spent a lifetime having pain inflicted on her. No, having inflicted pain on others.

He swallowed carefully, mindful of the edge against his throat. "I am not a demon, nor infested with any plague. I am a human, subject to and under the protection of Varian Wrynn, King and Lord Protector of Stormwind and the lands thereabouts. I am no enemy to any save the demons and those who ally with them." Her weapon at his throat didn't budge. "I should warn you that my death will draw a strong response among the living humans remaining in this area." A bold lie, but one he doubted an elitist member of another race would call him on.

Her high, plumed helm had a wide visor, through which he could see her slender, delicate features, hardened into an expression of perpetual rage. Her nostrils flared as if she was inhaling his scent. "You reek of demonic magic, human. Are you one of those new breed of cowards who claim to use demonic magic in service to the Alliance?"

Nex stiffened in spite of himself. "I spit upon warlocks. I trust their use of demons little more than I trust demons themselves."

For a long moment she stared at him, silent, before she took a step back, weapon falling to her side. Her escorts' longbows remained trained on him, however. "A dreadlord's corpse decorated the valley not far from here, bearing traces of your magic. It is now a puddle of slag, the spell also bearing your mark. You slew it and burned the corpse?"

"With the aid of a paladin of the Order of Turalyon."

"He is your companion?"

Nex hesitated. "Yes."

Another long pause, then she nodded. "I hunt a demon and a traitor, Illidan Stormrage. His tracks lead to the site of the demon's fall, as do yours."

Nex spat off to the side. "I encountered him. He attacked me and was on the verge of killing me when for no reason I could guess he fled. Your arrival I suppose."

Her expression of harsh rage didn't change, but he thought she might have been pleased. "He is right to fear me. As are any who consort with demons or the enemies of the night elves."

Nex hesitated. "You are a guardswoman of the Sentinels?"

The Night Elf straightened slowly, and Nex felt suddenly uneasy at the way the silence wrapped around her. A poor question. When she answered her tone was rough enough to make her previous words seem almost gentle. "I am Maiev Shadowsong, a Warden of the Barrow Dens. Illidan was under my care for ten thousand years, until Whisperwind," her mouth twisted around that word as if it was bitter, "murdered my wardens and set him loose. No, I am no Sentinel."

"So you hunt Stormrage in the name of the law."

"I _am_ the law!" she spat. "Illidan will rue the day he escaped from me. As will you curse your fate if you slow me. You saw him flee, tell me which way he went."

Nex could only shrug. "Straight into the air, I'm afraid. What I mistook for a cloak was actually wings, vile things like a monstrous bat's. I had no sense of him after he left."

Maiev looked around the wasted land darkly. "He's out there, somewhere. And he will suffer. All who are guilty will suffer!" For a moment more she hesitated, then she motioned to her escort and turned away. "Give me no reason to hunt you, human."

"As you command, my lady." Nex fingered the wound where her dagger had struck, which his demon skin was already closing. Whatever poison she had used didn't seem to be lethal, or she would have made mention of it. At least, he hoped she would have.

Before one of the bowwomen turned away to follow her mistress she tossed a sealed parchment at him, as casually as he had seen bandits throw garbage into a pit. It was not the only parchment in the pouch she had taken it from. "A writ for your king, whatever his name was. Should you report back to him, deliver it."

Nex slipped back into the crevice and fed a few sticks into his fire. Between burning Rachondimus's remains and the warden's poison he was weaker than he had been before his hellish rest, yet he feared to let his guard down again. So he gathered his strength as best he could to set out a far-reaching field tracking demons, then settled back and broke the seal on the writ. The message it contained was short and to the point.

"_To any who read this message,_

_ Be it known that the demonkind Illidan Stormrage has set foot upon this continent, and engages in some nefarious purpose within your borders. Follows a description of his appearance and a list of his known allies. Should you catch sight of them, seek out the deep forest nearest you and make contact with the owls stationed throughout your lands._

_ Assistance will be greatly rewarded. Collaboration with the demonkind or his allies will be met with the worst punishment ten thousand years of practice can deliver._

_ Maiev Shadowsong, Warden of the Barrow Dens."_

Nex hesitated over the parchment for a moment, then tossed it into the fire. If this Shadowsong had been Stormrage's warden for ten thousand years, chances were very good he hated her as much as she obviously hated him. Best to not run the risk of being caught with such a missive.

With a weary groan he pushed to his feet, kicked out the fire, picked up his whip once more, and slipped out of the crevice and into the night. He sincerely hoped the night elves hadn't elected to go west as well.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

The Last Guardian

As it turned out, Chillwind Pass had more than just tattered remnants of Lordaeron's army guarding it. A regiment of men and women in gold-laquered armor and blue tabards bearing a stylized image of a roaring lion's head on the front had set up a well-reinforced camp. He recognized the colors as those of the much-beleaguered nation of Azeroth, which had first encountered the orcs and fought to hold back their onslaught.

After those lands were reclaimed and the Dark Portal destroyed during the Second Orcish War many of the humans had fled to that land from Lordaeron to escape the heavy taxes Terenas Menethil levied to maintain the internment camps of the captured orcs. He'd even heard that the capitol city Stormwind had been rebuilt and was now the most prosperous human city remaining on Azeroth. He hadn't visited the city to see, as obviously large groups of people weren't his favorite thing in the world, but if they had strength enough to fortify their own lands and still send reinforcements to the far north to combat the Scourge, it appeared that the rumors were correct.

What it meant for him, however, was that he'd been lucky that in tracking Rachondimus's path of flight he had levitated over Lordamere lake rather than following any road. It had been a draining journey, but it seems he'd saved himself the hassle of trying to explain his way past an army of Azeroth's soldiers.

"Damn," he whispered. They had priests and paladins in their ranks, as was not surprising considering the corruption the Scourge spread across the land. If he tried to simply walk through claiming his heritage as a human those priests would likely inspect him closely for hints of plague or other contaminations. It was doubtful the nature of his magical energy would escape such an inspection.

The clatter of hooves reached his ears, and he crouched lower behind the rock he hid behind, atop the hill overlooking the pass and the human encampment. When he saw who it was approaching he whistled softly through pursed lips.

It was that paladin, Puros Light-something-or-other, and it looked as if he'd had a confrontation after their battle with Rachondimus. His shining armor was dusty, as well as battered and punctured in places. His white tabard was stained with blood halfway down and below, and one arm hung limp as if injured. Cries of dismay rang out from the soldiers at the barricade, and a handful of men accompanied by a priest rushed out to meet him.

"Lord Puros!" the priest cried. "What has happened to you? Is there a Scourge mobilization in the area our scouts haven't yet discovered?"

Puros sagged down off his horse, accepting the hands that kept him upright. His face was unscarred, but his brown beard normally peppered with gray was also spotted with red. He also looked very weary. "Not undead," he said in a tired voice. "Humans. Far too well dressed and equipped to be bandits or renegades. They were too occupied with killing me to identify themselves, but they all bore a white tabard with a red stylized flame on the chest."

The priest's mouth tightened. "We know of them, my Lord. Since you set out in pursuit of the demonlord we've encountered some of their patrols. They attack on sight, and the one prisoner we captured was willing to tell us little of themselves, even on threat of death. All we managed to get out of her was a torrent of rhetoric. Apparently they call themselves the Scarlet Crusade, and they're the first and last line of defense against the Scourge. The prisoner laughed at the proposal of an alliance, and promised us death if we tried to interfere with their plans."

"I see." Puros's face drooped with weary sadness. "This is a mad land, and one can hardly expect those who survived the plague to pass through its sad history unscathed."

"Unscathed is one thing, my Lord. But these madmen may pose an even greater threat to our efforts here than the Scourge. Ever since that traitor Menethil "inherited" his father's throne the plaguelands have been quiet. He's been keeping his minions at bay for the moment, apparently content with ruling within the traditional borders of Lordaeron. But if this Scarlet Crusade continues to send attacks at the Scourge he may grow annoyed and swat them down like gnats, then resume his campaign. That is, of course, assuming the fools don't straight-out surprise us with an unprovoked attack."

"I see." Puros staggered, and the priest caught his arm and helped him back up. Light suffused the holy man's hands as he ran them quickly over Puros's shoulder. "This is the worst of them, I think. Come, let's get you back into the camp where you can rest and be properly healed."

"I'm afraid not," Puros said grimly. "Has the weekly messenger to Ironforge been sent out yet?"

"To Ironforge? No, sir. Not until tomorrow morning."

"I'll go in his stead. There's a matter of great import I must discuss with the Archbishop Benedictus." He started making his laborious way to the barricade.

The priest supported him on one side, one of the soldiers at his other arm. "But my Lord, you're in no shape to make such a journey!"

"But make it I will. Do what you can for me tonight, but I intend to be to Stormwind in a month's time if I have to tie myself to my charger, and to one of the dwarf's gryphons after."

One of the soldiers laughed. "Little fear of that, Lord Puros. A lot has changed since we came north. Apparently the gnomish city of Gnomeregan was destroyed. Some subterranean enemy attacked the lower levels, and the daft buggers flooded their own city with some nasty gnomish muck or other to deal with the threat. Typical gnomish idiocy, they managed to sicken as many of their own people as of the enemy."

Puros tripped on a jag in the road and gave a grunt of pain. "Tragic as the story is, Corporal Lambert, I fail to see how it applies to my travels."

"Oh." The young soldier reddened in embarrassment. "Well the gnome refugees have all fled to Ironforge, and King Magni has welcomed them in their time of need. But gnomes being gnomes, they were so grateful that they decided they had to make some grand gesture to thank Magni for his generosity. They decided the perfect thing would be some sort of underground horseless carriage system between Stormwind and Ironforge. Messengers returning from Ironforge have been complaining for weeks about the ground rumbling beneath their feet, but the progress has been swift. By the time you make it there you might be able to travel in the gnome's tunnel in comfort."

"Assuming it doesn't blow me to pieces," Puros grumbled. He gave another grunt of pain as the priest bumped against him. "But then again, maybe you have something there."

Nex leaned back behind the rock as the group went behind the barricades and out of earshot. Gnomes, dwarves, and renegade humans. Who cared about any of them? He didn't have any goal in mind save to get out of the plaguelands and perhaps search out the largest nest of demons he could find and eradicate it. But even had he wanted to get south in a hurry what use was a contraption one could only get into by sneaking into one of the most heavily guarded cities in the world?

It was an option at least. Always good to keep his options open.

He felt a surge demonic energy just as someone down in the camp gave a cry of alarm. The next thing he knew he was enveloped in that energy. He was on the verge of fending off the magical field when he realized that he was no longer in his normal dimension. Before he had time to panic the energy field dissipated and the world came back into abrupt clarity.

He was, however, thirty feet above the ground.

. . . . .

With a curse he ducked and tucked his legs under him, hitting the ground in a roll that absorbed most of the impact. When he came to his feet and looked around he groaned. He knew this area all too well, since it was the hill outside the crevice where he'd spent the night after his fight with the demon lord, eight days ago.

Squatting outside the crevice's entrance, looking none too pleased, was none other than Illidan Stormrage himself. "I thought I made it clear I would be back for your answer," the night elf said coolly. "Did you decide you would make your refusal clear by fleeing, or did you simply have more pressing business nearly two hundred miles away?"

Nex carefully moved his hands away from his whip. Stormrage bristled with all the demonic power he had at their last encounter. He also appeared to be drawing upon it in preparation for some attack. Nex wisely decided not to provoke that attack, whatever it was. "I assumed that if you wanted to contact me you would be able to. However, I also assumed that since there was an incinerated dreadlord's corpse less than a stone's throw away you wouldn't be the only person sniffing around searching for clues about it. Happy as I am to see you, I wasn't in the mood to meet anyone or anything else." Nex looked around once more and scowled. "I'm glad you made the last eight days of hard travel a waste, at least."

Stormrage smirked at him. "Consider it chastisement for your impoliteness, human. Next time when I say I mean to speak with you, you had best not force me to find you."

Nex took a calming breath, then squatted in a position similar to the night elf's. "I'm here, now. And I've considered your offer. If you can assure me that my efforts will result in losses for the Burning Legion then I will side with you for as long as they are my enemy. My conditions are that you keep your promise of giving me opportunities to fight powerful agents of the Burning Legion, you teach me what you know as promised, and you never force me to side with demons, be they the Legion or any other affiliation."

Stormrage nodded, as if he had hoped to hear such a thing. "Fair enough. If those are your conditions then our partnership will last for a very, very long time. Because while you may have heard otherwise, young human, I do not side with the demons. In fact, I am about to begin the fight against their strongest agent on this world, and I offer you the chance to fight beside me."

Nex closed his eyes, trying to imagine the enemy Stormrage spoke of. Not among the orcs, surely. The demon Mannoroth had been the source of their taint, dead now. Slain by one of the orcs who had first sealed that demonic pact, Grommash Hellscream. Many powerful demons had accompanied Kil'Jaeden through the Dalaran portal, even demon lords, but most had been with him at the world tree when Furion sprang his trap.

That left Arthas Menethil and the Scourge, with their dreadlord overseers. Certainly powerful agents of the Burning Legion, but they were so well fortified it would take a mighty army to dislodge them, and he didn't see Stormrage as being the type to have won the loyalties of any power strong enough to do such a thing. At least not while being chased by Maiev. Which meant some sort of surprise strike or assassination.

Although mighty as they were, they weren't the strongest agents even within their own affiliation. Which left the strongest agent on Azeroth to be... "The Lich King," he stated calmly.

"The Lich King. As a human you should have a particular hatred for the being of unimaginable power who once was the elder shaman Ner'zhul. His plague threatened to destroy your kind, his undead fed primarily off your people to create his armies. Of all the races of Azeroth only the Nerubians bear a greater grudge."

"So you slew the Demon Lord Tichondrius and saved your people, and in return you were banished, are hunted by various factions of the Night Elves. Yet in spite of that you wish to aid Azeroth by destroying the Scourge. How noble of you."

The power Stormrage had been gathering was released in a surge towards him. Nex brought his own power to bear to defend himself, and watched as it was overwhelmed. He cried out in pain as the magic within him was burned away. Not even a fel hound's horrific attacks could compare to this. This was an agony that threatened to consume him at any moment. The power within him was being delved to its core and consumed, threatening to take all of him with it.

And then it stopped. "You question my motives? What of pragmatism, then? No matter what I intend, the fact remains that I give you many things you desire greatly. I can teach you to wield demonic power as no one on this earth can, unless you were to seek out a demon lord and strike alliance with it. I can aid you in your goal to rid this world of creatures such as Lynda who seek to delve in corrupt magics and taint all they touch." He laughed darkly. "Perhaps, if you give me reason, I could even tell you what manner of blood flows through your own veins."

Even writhing on the ground as he was, Nex stiffened at that. None but his mother knew the identity of the creature that had sired him. He sometimes thought he felt that heritage in his blood, corrupting him, tainting him. Strengthening him. But as yet he did not know whether that heritage was demon or human. "And what would you have me do?" he rasped.

"Do not question me, for one. Do not speak of what you know of my past. I have little patience for such games."

Nex barked out a short burst of laughter. "Don't worry, It seems I've just had opportunity to learn that lesson."

Stormrage smiled, and the greenish glow beneath his blindfold burned brighter. "Your first task is one I could not easily do myself. There is a minor conclave of mages in the land of Azeroth, in the village of Stormwind. Though none of those mages is of any particular note, they possess an item of value greater than they could ever guess. I wish you to retrieve it for me."

"I would need to know something of the item, at least of its history and whereabouts, if it is guarded by mages."

Illidan's eyes narrowed. "The item you seek is the Journal of Aegwynn."

. . . . .

Nex didn't blink. He knew of the Guardians of Tirisfal, and of Aegwynn in nauseating detail. Lynda had been insanely jealous of the woman, for not only had she possessed vast power but she had also encountered the avatar of the Lord of the Burning Legion. Sargeras himself had fought with her and lost.

But he could see little use for the journal aside as a curiosity. Apparently it was not, if Stormrage was so interested in retrieving it. What he'd already been given might possibly be enough information to find the thing, but it never hurt to fish for more. "Like I said, Stormrage, the more I have the easier my job will be. What if the mage I'm asking doesn't know it by that name? What if he only knows it as an obscure reference he heard of a while back? What else do you know about this that I can use?"

The night elf searched his face closely, then looked away towards the north. Nex wondered if he was thinking about the Lich King. "It's a small book, penned a few decades ago. I do not know who currently holds it, or how you might obtain it. I trust you will find a way. If you need to know of its history to find it then there is little to tell. It was the journal of the last Guardian of Tirisfal. After her death the mages of Dalaran held it for a time, but when Arthas destroyed that city a handful of human mages carried it and a few other artifacts south to Stormwind when they fled."

"Of what use could such an artifact be? The Lich King was after Aegwynn's time, if it's information about some weakness of his you're looking for."

"It would seem her journal is useless," Stormraged agreed. "At the least the humans who now possess it consider it so. And yet consider this. Upon her return from Northrend Aegwynn was closely questioned by the Kirin Tor. All her deeds were chronicled and preserved. It was only after this that she left the Council for good, judging her wisdom to be above theirs. Someone who fought a demon lord, among other feats, may have something valuable to say that others might have missed."

"And you judge it valuable enough that you wish me to steal it?"

Illidan's power surged once more, and once more Nex was wracked with pain. "I believe I have spoken with you long enough, human. It is time for you to swear yourself to my service and do this task for me."

Nex hesitated. "Perhaps you believe so, but I do not. You seek power, and power alone. Whatever this journal has in it, it is valuable to you, and so it must be powerful." Nex braced for another wave of agony, but it did not come. Stormrage merely looked at him, expression calculating, the green glow beneath his blindfold subdued.

"Knowledge is power," he finally said. "Power to destroy the Lich King. Of that I can promise you. In fact I can do better. Retrieve this journal for me and I assure you that it will be instrumental in the destruction of the Frozen Throne." A hint of impatience crossed the night elf's features. "The alternative, of course, is for me to go and eradicate this conclave of mages myself and take it. There would be far more deaths, and deaths of those who fight the Burning Legion as we do."

"Power to destroy the Frozen Throne could also be wielded for other purposes," Nex argued. Might as well see how far he could push now, at the beginning of their relationship when Stormrage was still trying to win him over.

Apparently too far, this time. The agony wracked him for what seemed hours, while he writhed on the ground and kept his teeth clenched so he wouldn't bite off his tongue. "You judge me thus, human?" Stormrage demanded. "You, who bears a demonic taint as terrible as mine? After all I have done, for this world and for my own people, must I be called a liar and a traitor by a human who has lived a brief second compared to my long, long lifetime?" Nex screamed, trying to apologize, to stop the pain. He had thought himself inured to pain after his time in the Demon Pit. But pain was something you couldn't truly strengthen yourself against.

Stormrage continued, inexorable as the tide. "For ten thousand years I languished in darkness, while the people who called me Betrayer used the gift I gave them to gain immortality, to give my people the strength that saved them from the Burning Legion's return. Even after I did what must be done to destroy Tichondrius-and paid a terrible price!-my brother," his face spasmed in rage, "called me a monster, a traitor to my people, and cast me into exile. And after all I have done for them, all the sacrifices I have made, that bitch Maiev and my other jailers continue to hunt me like an animal, for no other reason than because she still calls me guilty."

His voice became soft. "And yet even after all that, I still work to save them. For them I will destroy the Lich King, and drive all demons from this land. And they may hunt me to the ends of this world and others, but I will not fail in this task."

The pain stopped. Nex rushed to fill the gap in case it returned. "I, Nex-thanarak shubar'tarul akhet, ni-thanarak ovi'nex," he gasped, "swear upon my soul. If you meet the conditions I set forth I will serve you in the destruction of the Burning Legion. May I die if I betray my service."

Stormrage gazed at him for a long, long time, then nodded. "You may not think yourself bound to that oath, but you will find in time that you are. Deeper and more tightly than you could ever imagine." The corrupted night elf's wings spread to their full length, as they had the last time Stormrage had departed. "Complete this task swiftly, and I will be pleased. Do not displease me." Before Nex could respond the night elf leapt into the air, passing quickly out of sight even on this clear, sunny day.

Nex managed to push himself to his feet with an effort. Complete the task swiftly, but spend eight days traveling the same distance towards his goal he'd already traveled. But he'd sworn his soul to the service of that vile creature. In the future he may end up regretting it, but at the least now he was resigned to his decision.

And it gave him an opportunity to be the first to look at this Journal of Aegwynn. Even if he did not have long to study it before it was taken from him, there were likely many interesting things to be learned about demons from the Guardian who had protected Azeroth from the Burning Legion for so long. And he would have time to find out just what information Stormrage coveted so much within those pages.

"I'll get to Stormwind quickly," he muttered. "Luckily I know just the way to go."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Interlude

The tram car rocked gently back and forth in the dark tunnel, lit by the actinic glare of arc welders outside the windows. Every now and then a booming _thud_ shook the car, and at times the racket was punctuated by a sharp _clang_ of metal on metal.

Puros glanced up from his holy tome as a particularly heavy thud rocked the car, and a moment later sighed when a shriek split the air. It might have been comical had it not meant at best another delay, at worst potential catastrophe. "Light have mercy," he muttered. With another sigh he ducked out of the car's small door and into the metallic stink of the tunnel. Knowing gnomes, chances were better than good that his services as a healer would be required.

The tram car was parked a fair distance back from where the monstrous device affectionately referred to as "the Digger" continued to burrow its way into the rock. It was a sensible precaution, since the area within 100 yards of the Digger was classified as an HHZ, or High Hazard Zone. By gnome standards, high hazard was the next best thing to certain death. Most of the gnomes were in the area between the car and the HHZ, clearing away debris and laying down tracks. They performed both tasks with admirable speed, which didn't make him feel any happier about the delay.

When he got to the work site it was engulfed in a roiling cloud of dust from a minor cave-in. Before he could wade in and look for casualties he encountered Grand Foreman Togglesocket assisting a limping female out of the dust cloud. When the gnome saw Puros he brightened. "Thank goodness you're here," he said, voice nearly squeaking in excitement. "Millie is badly hurt!"

Puros fought back a sigh. Trust to gnomes to treat a minor problem as if it were a disaster, and completely fail to notice a true catastrophe. He didn't want to be unsympathetic, but it didn't take long around gnomes to understand how they could turn their wondrous city into an irradiated wasteland while trying to defend it from attack. "Let me see what I can do," he said, carefully checking her leg for injury. The problem was about what he'd expected, a small scratch that was barely worthy of his abilities. He healed it anyway, just because they looked so _dejected_ when he refused.

As soon as the female was hopping up and down in satisfaction Togglesocket whirled on her. "All right. Now that that's taken care of just _what_ were you thinking reinforcing alluvial deposits with #2 joists? You might as well be using silicone spanners to bridge an alternating current gap!" Out in the hanging dust a gnome guffawed as if he'd just said the funniest thing ever. Who knows, with gnomes maybe he had.

Millie hung her head in shame. "I thought using .5 mm caps on the joint holds would be enough to compensate."

Togglesocket put his hands on his hips. "Milliweather Wrenchtapper, what on earth are you doing? I _know_ you know the first rule of construction!" If Millie had been a puppy, she would have been flat on her belly with her ears drooping to the floor, she looked so dejected. But before she could say anything Togglesocket finished his own question. "The first rule of construction _is_..." he paused for dramatic effect, and every gnome in earshot joined in with him, "DON'T TINKER WITH PROVEN DESIGNS WHILE ON THE JOB!"

Puros sighed and went deeper into the dust, searching for anyone else who might need his help. Togglesocket tagged along, although he occasionally disappeared into the dust to give a stern (for a gnome at least) lecture to this or that worker. He was nearly to the farthest yellow paint on the wall that signaled the beginning of the HHZ when the dust cleared to reveal High Tinker Mekkatorque running frantically along the rail, waving his arms.

"No no _no_ NO!" he squealed. "What are you doing, Tibbo? You can't fasten down track on one end when the other end is sitting on top of debris! You're going to bend the rail and we'll be nearly an hour getting it sorted out!" Tibbo looked up, still working with his wrench, and the High Tinker sighed in exasperation. "That's it, get out of the way! I'll fix your mistakes myself, and you can see how you like being a foreman."

Tibbo scratched his head in confusion as he was bustled aside. "Um, your Majesty, I _would_ like to be a foreman."

Mekkatorque snorted in derision. "Oh you only _think_ you'd like it. Walking down the lines, everyone seething with envy for your authority, never having to lift a finger. I tell you you'll work twice as hard as anyone cleaning up other people's mistakes, and shout yourself hoarse trying to get them to listen." The High Tinker finished unfastening the bolts and heaved the rail out of the way. "All right, now _clear this debris_. When I come back I want to be able to solder gyrochromatons on this floor!" He turned and saw Puros watching them, and visibly brightened. "Ah, Lord Puros. Thank you for your assistance in tending to my wounded. Your presence on this work site has been indispensable!"

"Yes..." Puros said slowly. "About that, your Majesty. I thought you said the tunnel was finished before we left." He tried to keep his tone at gentle reproof.

The High Tinker flushed with a combination of embarrassment and annoyance. "Well I'm not to be faulted, my Lord. All our calculations assured us that the digging would be finished by the time our car completed the trip!" He knelt down in the dust, completely oblivious of the smudges to his fine robes, and began drawing lines. "You see, the Digger is obviously much slower, but at the same time much farther along. So this line _here_ shows its progress and speed. Our car is obviously much faster, but at the same time starting from the beginning. So this line _here_ shows _its_ progress and speed. As you can see under normal circumstances the two lines would not have intersected, because the transsubterranean hyperchurner would have already been safely docked in Stormwind! It's inconceivable that the delays should have lasted this long, and obviously the composition of this section of strata is to blame, not our calculations."

"Of course," Puros said dryly, "the rock which has remained unchanged for millions of years is to blame for our delays, not an over-generous estimation of your timetable."

"Exactly!" Mekkatorque said in satisfaction. "I couldn't have said it better myself." Togglesocket, who had just arrived from some foreman task, nodded enthusiastically.

Puros shook his head, equal parts amused and exasperated. Of course he really didn't have too much room to complain. On the platoon's journey north they had had to traverse the distance on foot or with wagons, sometimes through very dangerous territory, and it had taken them months. Even with the delays he'd only been down in this tunnel for about three weeks, and delays had eaten up half of that time. That the gnomes had managed to dig a tunnel along a third of the continent's length in less than two months was nothing short of astounding.

No, you couldn't fault the gnomes for their ingenuity. It just made it all the more aggravating because common sense seemed to be completely absent from their great intellect. Some of their notions were as silly as a cannon strapped to a horse.

Come to think of it, he probably shouldn't mention that notion, or he'd have a dozen of the absurd idiots enthusiastically assembling prototypes of their ambulatory equine-mounted projectile launchers.

"How long do you expect it to be before we reach Stormwind and dig up to the surface?" he said with as much patience as he could muster.

The Grand Overseer and High Tinker exchanged guilty looks. "Well the churning awl keeps on overheating..." Togglesocket said, at the same time Mekkatorque burst out with "you have to realize we're dealing with a composition that's nearly 43% ferrite in this section..."

"How long?" Puros repeated.

Another shared look. "Two weeks, assuming the pyrite node doesn't extend more than twenty yards," Mekkatorque said, at the same time Togglesocket hedged with "well making a projection without hard data is about as useful as just guessing random numbers."

The two glared at one another, then looked away guiltily. "That is to say, two weeks is a fairly safe projection with our current assumptions," Togglesocket amended. "Oh yes, although of course you can never have a concrete number when dealing with unknown variables," Mekkatorque stated.

"Agree to disagree?" Puros said wryly.

This time the look the gnomes exchanged was confused. "That sounds like a logical impossibility, my Lord," Mekkatorque said, his tone suggesting that he pitied someone incapable of coming to such an obvious conclusion.

Puros looked down at his hammer, wondering if he'd regret banging his head on it a few times in frustration. "How about if we were on the surface? How long would the trip last on foot?"

Togglesocket furrowed his brows in concentration. "Is it two hundred seventy or three hundred thirty yards since the dolomite deposits, your Majesty?"

"It's four hundred even to the dolomite. The anthracite is two-seventy beyond that, and I'm quite sure I don't know where you picked up the number three-thirty."

The Grand Overseer went pink with embarrassment. "Perhaps the fuel projections," he hazarded. His brow furrowed in thought again. "I would say roughly two hundred and thirty-three hours, all told." Puros furrowed his own brow trying to figure that out in days, and the gnome, showing uncommon perceptiveness, helped him out. "That would be nine days seventeen hours, my Lord."

"So it would be faster to get out and walk?"

"That is what the numbers suggest," Mekkatorque said patiently, as if talking to a child. "Although I assure you the comforts of the hydraulic speedy people mover will more than make up for the wait!"

"Would it be possible to dig up to the surface quickly so that I can be on my way?"

Both gnomes squeaked in distress. "You mustn't do that, my Lord!" Mekkatorque said over the top of Togglesocket's wailed "but that would breach security!" Puros simply stared at them, and Togglesocket eventually calmed down enough to explain. "You see, the tram only works underground on the assumption that no debris will get tangled in the tracks. A rock the size of your fingernail could kill everyone on board. That's why we've been sealing the tunnel with metamorphic-emulating quick-dry spray, to make sure the tunnel remains completely smooth and no dirt or rocks break off to block the track. If we had a tunnel up to the surface anyone could come down and mess with the tracks. There are bandits in this area, and," the small gnome shuddered in disgust, "kobolds. If we got a kobold infestation in this tunnel we might as well just collapse it and go home."

"I see." Puros pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, closing his eyes. Ridiculous as it seemed, every day in this dank miserable tunnel reeking of greasy dust and superheated metal seemed like a week. Certainly when it was finished and the gnomes had had a few weeks and one or two catastrophic crashes the kinks might be worked out and this would be pleasant, but at the moment it was about the most unpleasant thing he could imagine.

There was a sudden burst of sparks and a shrill screech, and then the tunnel went completely dark. Out in the blackness Puros could hear gnomes calling out frantically and the far too frequent sound of painful collisions. Of course they didn't have the common sense to stand still or move slowly in the dark.

"Um, my Lord?" Mekkatorque said with unusual formality. "Could I ask a favor of you?"

Puros sighed. "Anything I can do to assist."

"Only, well, paladins are renowned for using the Light. And, you see, we could really do with a bit of light right now."

They wanted him to use the Holy Light like a common torch. Turn the cleansing and pure manifestation of righteousness into a tool for a bunch of industrious gnomes. With a whispered prayer asking forgiveness for any blasphemy Puros called upon the Light, and the tunnel was filled with its pure white radiance.

. . . . .

_One rock up, two rocks down. Let's see: how did that factor in to the rules in round one hundred and fifty-seven?_

Nex paused, one hand full of rocks the other curled into a fist with just the middle finger pointed out, as the light coming down the tunnel winked out. _Demonspawn, the idiots can't even keep the light constant down here_. After nearly four days of listening to the gnomes working, wasting as much time in debate and accidents as they saved with their innovations, he reluctantly concluded that gnomes had to be the species on Azeroth least likely to survive.

With a growl of annoyance he focused his second sight more keenly until he could perceive what was going on again. Then he got back to his game, casually tossing one of the rocks into the air, then catching it with the middle finger of his other hand and flipping it towards the square of cloth he'd set at the other end of the tunnel. It hit dead center, just like it always did. He hadn't missed in almost four hours.

_Forget it, I'm jumping up to round one thousand._ He stood up sulkily, spun around, tucked his middle finger in and stretched out his pinky finger, then paused. He couldn't help but feel he was forgetting a step. Oh, right. He spun around ten times clockwise, ten times counter-clockwise, then ten times clockwise again. Then he tossed a rock into the air, caught it on his pinky, and hurled it at the cloth. He heard the muffled thump and his second sight told him he'd hit dead center. Again.

"Gah!" he snarled, but quietly. It was about that moment that the tunnel became blinding with the holy Light. Nex bit back a scream and dulled his second sight down to nothing, jamming his fists against his temples in pain. After a moment the pain faded, and he was left with only his normal senses._ Hmm, a handicap._

Whistling cheerfully to himself, he jumped to round six hundred seventy-three, curled his hand into a fist, and did a backflip, during the middle of which he tossed a rock straight down and caught it on his index finger's knuckle, launching it at the square of cloth. It hit the stone of the tunnel with a loud clatter, and Nex smiled.

About damn time.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

The Aran Signet

Though it was undignified, Puros popped out of the hole to the surface the moment it was wide enough for him, desperate to be outside after a month underground. The chill breeze felt heavenly against his face, the sun's kiss making the cool pleasant and cleansing. The air was so fresh and clean that he spent a few minutes just breathing it in.

High Tinker Mekkatorque wandered out of the hole after him, glancing down at the scene below. "Oh my. It seems our caravan from Ironforge arrived before us. And already making such progress. This is splendid!"

Puros looked down at the humble little shanty town huddled outside the massive walls of Stormwind. Industrious dwarves were already punching holes in those walls for gates, turning the moat into a canal, pacing off distances for a new wall to surround the area, and quarrying stone on the northern end of the area. He knew that what the dwarves tore down they built up ten times finer, but still it galled him to see the defenses of his beloved city pillaged so. "I imagine you'll have this place looking finer than any other district in Stormwind in a year's time."

"Hmm?" Mekkatorque glanced up at him in surprise, as if he'd forgotten he was there. "Oh, I'm sure we will. I'll have to leave it all to Togglesocket, however. My people in Ironforge need my leadership, and this project will take more time than I can afford to spend on it. In fact, I think it would be best if I give Togglesocket a few pointers then take the zip-car back along the tunnel immediately."

"Yes, I suppose so." Puros extended his hand, and the gnome shook it firmly. "Thank you for allowing me to make use of your new tram."

"No problem. You have a great day now." Mekkatorque seemed to show no reluctance at all in scooting through the tiny hole back into the tunnel. Of course, gnomes and dwarves were accustomed to living underground, so maybe it wasn't so suffocating for them. Just the thought of it made Puros take another deep breath in gratitude.

Then hefted his hammer and started down the hill towards the hole in the walls that would lead him to the Cathedral of Light. After a too-long delay, he could finally report in to his brothers in the Order of Turalyon concerning the dreadlord and the strange human he had met.

The hole in the wall opened out onto a patch of churned dirt and a bit of scattered debris. From the looks of it they had demolished a house in preparation for putting in a path, and from the pile of cobblestones at one end of the patch he judged they were planning on making a street sooner rather than later. He made his way from the area quickly, somewhat dismayed by the wreckage. Certainly in the future it would be a well-kept, busy thoroughfare, but now it was an eyesore only two streets away from his beloved cathedral. It seemed the engineers in charge of the project felt the same way. When he entered Cathedral Square he saw that the Stormwind City Orphanage's massive bulk blocked sight of the work in progress, leaving the view untarnished. He paused at the side of the orphanage, taking in the beauty of the square before him.

The square's center was also a square, of carefully tended brownstone shaded by a tall oak in each corner. In the center of the brownstone a magnificently carved fountain trickled clear water into a wide pool, which was surrounded by benches for weary pilgrims to sit and rest. The fountain was topped by a statue of one of the most revered figures in the Church of Light, Archbishop Alonsus Faol. Though Alonsus had begun his holy service in Stratholme, far to the north, he had come to Azeroth after the end of the Second Orcish War, when the region finally settled down enough to make it safe for the dispossessed citizens of Azeroth to finally return home.

The efforts of Lordaeron's priests and paladins had been instrumental in the restoration of Stormwind City, and Alonsus himself had worked tirelessly to restore Northshire Abbey and raise vast funds to rebuild the city. Were it not for his noble spirit and generosity Stormwind would be a much darker place, and so Puros paused before the statue in a moment of silent thanks, as did all members of the Church of Light who came here.

"Puros!" With a start he turned towards the foot of the grand staircase that led to the beautiful Cathedral itself. Brother Kristoff was hurrying towards him, smiling broadly.

"Brother Kristoff!" he said, returning the smile and hurrying forward to clasp arms with the frail, scholarly cleric. Kristoff raised funds for the orphanage on behalf of the church, and was very diligent in his efforts. He often went personally to areas of conflict to bring out parties of refugees and see them settled.

"I'm not sure quite what to say," Kristoff said as he returned the gesture. "I'm pleased to see you, but I thought you meant to stay in the plaguelands and overs containing the Scourge."

"So I did, and so I will. But I had to come and report to Lord Shadowbreaker a matter of some urgency."

"I'll not keep you then," Kristoff said. "If you have a moment later please come by the orphanage. I'm sure the children would love to hear stories of your adventures."

Puros's smile faded. "I'm not so certain of that, old friend."

The cleric's smile faded as well. "That bad?"

Puros shook his head wearily. "I heard all the reports, the stories. But they couldn't begin to describe the devastation I saw there. A great kingdom of men, reduced to waste and people only by the walking dead. We can send a battalion north and think we're doing our part, but I begin to wonder if anything we do will-" Puros broke off and tried to smile. "But better to not speak of it. Where the Light shines a way can be found."

"Of course." Kristoff made a holy sign invoking the Light's blessings. "If you have a few days to spare, perhaps there is something I can do for you before you leave. I'll speak to the good people of Stormwind, and try to raise more funds for your efforts."

"Thank you." Puros clasped the man's hand once more, then continued on up the broad steps.

The cathedral was grand on the outside. On the inside it was breathtaking. In a land ransacked and despoiled by the Orcish Horde gold was hard to come by, and could be put to better uses, so the ornamentation was of plain metal and stone. Steel, and brass, and copper. Dressed marble and obsidian. But where the materials were plain, the devotion and love the craftsmen had poured into their work, to say nothing of their best skill and thousands of hours, turned it into a masterpiece. A triumph of the human spirit.

Intricate stone busts lined the walls, portraits of some of the greatest figures in the Church of Light throughout history. Some had been recovered, others remade, but all showed nobility and dignity, and most of all strength in the face of dark times. Benches of fine stonework lined the antechamber where penitents and pilgrims could rest, and carpets of expertly woven and dyed blue and gold linen lined the floors. Intricate raised brass candelabra lined the aisle that led up to the raised altar where services were held. Farther out from the candelabra massive pillars held up the cavernous room, also worked in great detail. These pillars shaded portions of the chapel to either side where the faithful could sit and pray or listen to sermons on long stone benches. The entries to either side led to the paladin's quarters, the priest's quarters, the rooms for the clergy, and near the front a steep stairway down into the undercroft.

At the altar Archbishop Benedictus was speaking of some matter with Bishop Farthing, while a couple other priests stood to the side, waiting to present petitions. Puros ducked behind the columns to the left and made his way into the paladin quarters. He met up with Duthorian Rall just inside the door which led out into the extensive grounds where paladins trained. The big man nodded at him curtly. "Puros."

"Master Rall," Puros replied. The weapons trainer didn't ask him why he was back, and Puros didn't offer the information. "Have you seen Lord Shadowbreaker?"

"Aye. He was in the mess hall, last I saw."

Puros thanked him and continued on. He met more of his brothers in the halls and grounds, most more talkative than Duthorian, but he gently put aside their questions, wanting to complete his task. He finally found the leader of his Order in a corner of the mess hall, sopping up the last of a bowlful of stew with a hunk of bread while he spoke earnestly with Katherine Olin, known as "the Pure."

Lord Grayson Shadowbreaker was not the oldest member of the Order of Turalyon, but he'd certainly fought in enough battles to have earned the position. He was grizzled and scarred from countless injuries, sporting a rakish black eyepatch to cover an eye lost to the spike of an orcish axe during the final assault on the Dark Portal. He was more a fighter than a healer, and presided over his brothers during a time when the focus was on protecting Azeroth from its enemies, mostly orcs still free of the internment camps and fractious nobles little better than warlords who refused to come back under the authority of the king. When the occasion demanded, Grayson Shadowbreaker was not averse to raining down retribution on those who broke the peace.

Both paladins looked up when Puros entered, and Katherine stood to give him a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Ah, Puros, I'm glad you've finally arrived," Shadowbreaker said, pushing to his feet to clap Puros on the shoulder.

Puros was surprised. "You expected me?"

"Indeed. I'd heard you were trapped in the gnomes' new tram system waiting for them to complete the work," the paladin barked out a laugh. "I'm surprised you were so lacking in common sense that you put yourself in the hands of gnomes. But in any case a few days later when our weekly messenger arrived in Ironforge and heard that the tram was experiencing delays, King Magni lent him a gryphon so he could deliver the news."

Katherine laughed. "It looks as if gnomish technology can't compete good old fashioned methods. That's certainly something new."

Puros endured the ribbing with a pained smile. "So you know most everything I came to tell you."

"Most everything," Shadowbreaker agreed. His smile abruptly vanished. "Although the lad couldn't tell me of your own adventures. Apparently somewhere in the area of the Arathi Highlands you left your caravan behind to set up a waypoint and continue on without you, and went off alone pursuing a demon lord."

"Aye. I found a ruined farmstead it had destroyed. It slew eight people, three of them children." Katherine's eyes widened in grief and anger. "The battalion was in the middle of setting up Refuge Pointe, and dealing with incursions from ogres sallying out of the ruins of Stromgarde, so I didn't feel it right to take any of them away from important efforts to hunt a dreadlord. I was confident I could deal with the creature myself in any case."

"And did you?" Shadowbreaker asked.

Puros grimaced. "There are quite a few mountain ranges in the area, and the dreadlord was flying much of the time. I managed to track its path of destruction all the way to the mountains separating the Arathi Highlands from the Hinterlands, but lost it there. However, in leading the battalion up Chillwind Pass I came across its presence again at the entrance to the plaguelands, where a score of Lordaeron soldiers struggling to hold back the Scourge had apparently been slaughtered by it. It had slaughtered the few remaining Scourge as well, from what I could see."

Both other paladins looked surprised. "A dreadlord destroying Scourge forces?" Katherine asked.

"Yes. I thought at first it was a sign of dissension among the ranks. Perhaps even evidence that the traitor Arthas Menethil had split off from the control of the Lich King and the Burning Legion. But after hunting the dreadlord for a week and seeing it traveling alone, destroying any Scourge it came across, I was forced to conclude that it was a rogue demon, which had likely come from the south in search of agents of the Burning Legion it could contact."

Shadowbreaker nodded thoughtfully. "We've had no news of any demons south of the Plaguelands, but this suspicion may warrant further inspection. Worst case could be that the Dark Portal is active once more. Our best information suggests dreadlords are often employed as spies and interrogators operating outside the main body of the Legion, so it could be that this creature went north to establish contact with the Scourge dreadlords. Did you destroy it?"

Puros nodded grimly. "Aye, that I did. Although that, too, was a troubling circumstance."

"Explain."

So he did. He told of the fight with the demon, and the young human Nex wielding corrupted energy and the pivotal role he played in bringing down the dreadlord. When he was done he shook his head. "I can't help but think I did the wrong thing in letting him escape. But I was in no position to fight him, since he came out of that fight in far better shape than I did."

Both paladins were quiet for a while, processing the news. "I think you did right in letting him be," Katherine finally said. "He aided you when you desperately needed it, and showed no intention of attacking you. To attack him in turn would not have been honorable."

Puros reddened. "I wouldn't say I _desperately_ needed help," he protested.

Shadowbreaker laughed, but quickly grew serious once more. "I have no reason for it, but my heart misgives me concerning this young man. A pity you could not have convinced him to come with you."

"I'll admit I didn't try very hard. At the time I was exhausted from battle and perhaps didn't judge the situation clearly. But he seemed to possess a strong hatred for demons, and any enemy of _that_ enemy must be a friend."

"I'm not so sure," Shadowbreaker turned away, pacing restlessly. He limped slightly from an old wound to his left leg. "There are only so many forces in this world. If that boy was acting of his own volition, which I doubt, he remains a powerful figure in a land torn with conflict. I wonder how long he could go before any other power would seek to subvert or eliminate him. You said you were close to Stratholme?"

"Aye." Puros shook his head. "I have a hard time believing he'd join up with the dreadlords, however. Just looking into his eyes I could see the hatred burning there every time he looked at the demon's corpse."

The paladin leader continued to pace, brow furrowed in worry. "I don't like it. I cannot see any good end coming from this. At best the boy will be killed, at worst he may end up an enemy." He sighed. "When you return to the Plaguelands I want you to keep an especial eye out for him. Any sign of his whereabouts and affiliation. If it turns out he's become an agent of the Scourge I want you to eliminate him personally."

Puros went to one knee. "As you command, my Lord."

. . . . .

Now that the idiots had finally opened a hole out to Stormwind Nex felt that he just might like to leave this tunnel. How to do so was still a bit of a question, though, for while the hole had been opened the tram was by no means complete. The rails still had to be placed, the walls, floor, and ceiling smoothed and shored up, and the colossal digging machine had to continue on its merry way until it was out of the way of the ongoing effort. Then of course the Stormwind entrance had to be enlarged, supported, and prettied up. While all that was going on the area was and would continue to be thick with industrious gnomes.

There was no telling how long all that would take, so the only thing for it was to walk right out past the gnomes. If he timed it right and went during a break most of the workers would be gone, and if the gnomes held to their schedule another break was due to come soon.

Of course he still had some preparations to make. Among the first things he had to do was isolate his demon skin effect and eliminate it. Not only did it display a noticeable demonic taint to any skilled spellcasters searching for it, but it altered his appearance as well. With it red tinged his eyes, streaked his hair, and made his skin pale and scaly. Without it he'd still be pale, but his hair and eyes would be an unobtrusive brown. He'd had to undo the effects of the spell quite a few times, whenever he was among humans. Other races didn't seem to notice or care about his strange appearance with it, unless they knew enough about humans to identify it as strange.

It took a short time of intense concentration, but eventually he felt much of his regenerative capability fade away, as well as his resistance to extremes in temperature. He couldn't exactly _feel_ the fact that the skin's protection from injury was also gone, but he'd likely notice it quickly if attacked.

The next major tell-tale, of course, was the whip. It reeked with demonic power, and was quite noticeably of fel design and origin. Despite his efforts, even a few of the gnomes with magical talent had noticed it, though they'd been too occupied with their work to investigate. Fortunate for him. But it meant that stowing it in the tunnel would probably lead to its discovery, which meant he'd have to sneak it out on his person, find an out-of-the-way place where people wouldn't be wandering, and bury it for now.

Down the tunnel he heard the foreman squeaking the announcement of a fifteen minute break. He stood, looping the whip around his waist and pulling his coat down over it, then pulled his cloak closed around him. He kept the hood down, since trying to hide his face under a hood was one of the best ways to draw the attention of a guard. Without his demon skin he felt naked, and as he strode down the tunnel he couldn't help but feel eyes on him. Not all the gnomes had gone on break, and a few were pausing in their tasks to watch his approach.

"Hey!"

He flinched and turned to the gnome who had called out to him, psychically ordering the whip to be ready. The gnome had a clipboard in his hand, and he was looking at it absently. "Yes?" Nex said warily.

The gnome looked up, brow furrowed in thought. "You came from down the tunnel, right?"

"That's right." Nex fished in his cloak for a dagger. He was running low, only three left it seemed. But he closed his fingers around the hilt of the sturdy knife at his belt and got ready in case the gnome cried for help.

"Hmm." The gnome ticked something on his clipboard. "You didn't happen to notice whether girder 3,718 was cracked, did you?"

Nex looked blankly at the tiny figure, wondering if this was a joke. "What?"

"Girder 3,718, about a mile back. Joller mentioned seeing cracks when he came down on the zip-car."

Nex remembered the zip-car, if that's what the hellish contraption he'd seen had been. Like the much larger tram it ran on the tracks, but unlike the tram it was much smaller and traveled at what even the gnomes had to consider to be an unsafe speed. He'd hid when it passed, although it had been such a blur he hadn't been able to see much about it. If this Joller fellow had seen something that obscure while riding it in the dark he had to have the visual acuity of an eagle. "I don't recall seeing any damage, although I'm probably not qualified to judge anything."

"All right then. Thanks anyway." The gnome jotted something on his clipboard and turned away, wandering over to the other side of the tunnel and running his finger along a newly-placed joist.

Nex turned and strode briskly for the entrance. He couldn't figure why none of these creatures would have a problem with a strange human appearing from down the tunnel. This was a major project, and from what he'd seen of the tracks and the vehicles that ran along them it wouldn't take much in the way of sabotage to cause an accident which would prove fatal to everyone on board. The gnomes may be vague and distracted, but when it came to their devices they weren't stupid.

As he reached the exit that theory was confirmed by the two burly (for gnomes) guards standing watch there. Obviously they were there to prevent unauthorized entry into the tunnel. And obviously only that, because when he passed by them _leaving _the tunnel one called out "hi, how are you?" and the other kept on watching the hill leading up to the hole for anyone trying to sneak in, completely ignoring him. He supposed there was a sort of logic to it. If the tunnel had only two entrances, one in a fortified dwarven city and one just recently opened near Stormwind, and if only the gnomes, dwarves, and a few humans from Stormwind knew about it, then why would it even occur to them that anyone inside the tunnel was anything but trustworthy?

That seemed to be just the sort of faulty assumption he'd expect from the gnomes, from what he'd seen of them. On the Ironforge side he'd walked in passing himself off as a human, toured the city a bit to deter suspicion, then wandered over to Tinker Town, the gnomish area of the city, and asked if he could see the underground tunnel. They'd let him right in, and he'd just turned and started walking deeper in without hesitation. No one had stopped him, and he was fairly confident no one even remembered him.

When it came to security, he sincerely hoped that the dwarves would take responsibility on the Ironforge side, and the humans on the Stormwind side. Gnomes just weren't suited to it.

A cool breeze ruffled his hair, and he stopped and took a deep breath of the fresh air, blown right down from the mountains. Words could scarcely describe how nice it was to be out of that tunnel.

Down the hill there was a flat area just outside Stormwind's walls. Although both walls looked as if they'd been built without gates, dwarf stonemasons were busily at work on both, renovating them with a gate to the south and one to the west. The walls had a sturdy moat in front of them, but the dwarves were even busily at work on those, converting them into a part of the canal district. It seemed the gnomes' tram system was a major operation, so much so that a few human engineers were already pacing off new walls to surround the tunnel and the space in front of it. In that space shanties were going up, and even a few hints of makeshift villages. With the trade between Ironforge and Stormwind suddenly cheap, fast, and above all absolutely safe, it was likely that within a few years or even months those shanties down there would be a prosperous district.

From his vantage point he could see over the walls into Stormwind proper. It was a surprisingly clean city, most of its structures made of gray or white stone quarried from the mountains behind the city, or bricks baked a light red. The extensive canal system separated the city into five distinct districts, with a single bridge spanning each canal from one district to another: at the front of it, near the massive double gates and moat, he could see a busy bazaar with dozens of prosperous businesses. At the far southwest part of that trade district stood his immediate goal: the Stormwind city bank.

West of the trade district he saw a massive white tower thrusting up from a prosperous-looking area with fine houses surrounded by their own small parks and gardens. Likely that was the mage tower, his ultimate goal, surrounded by the businesses and dwellings of those that catered to them. North of the mage tower, across a canal, was an extensive park full of green trees and carefully cultivated stretches of flowers. The park was obviously for the private use of the influential, mages from the tower and holy men, for to the east across another canal stood a grand cathedral, built of flawless white stone with stained glass windows.

The two gates that led to the gnomish tunnel, unfortunately, were both unattractive from his point of view. One led to the aforementioned cathedral, which he would be just as happy to avoid like the plague. The other led to the entrance of Stormwind Keep, which made up the south wall of the area he was in. Farther south, beyond the keep, was a much older area that appeared far more ramshackle. That poverty-stricken district was, at least, area he could feel more comfortable in. He'd have to pass by the Keep to get there, but it still seemed like the best route to take to get to the bank.

But he had a task to do first. Turning away from the gnomish and dwarven shanty-town down the hill below him, he started making his way up the hill to where the it jutted up against the mountains behind Stormwind. On the other side of those mountains lay the Burning Steppes, where rumors claimed there were remnants of the Blackrock clan still uncaptured. But even if the Blackrocks were a danger they weren't an immediate one, since the mountains created a near-perfect barrier to attack. Not content with that natural defense, however, the humans had built two guard towers up on the lower peaks, obviously tasked with watching all approaches, including by air.

With a bit of walking he found an ideal place, a hollow in the ground out of view of both towers and also the work going on below. After a look around to make sure he hadn't been followed, he got out his sturdy knife and dug a hole for his whip.

. . . . .

From up close the shanty town that would likely one day become the dwarven district was surprisingly clean and well-tended, if made up of hastily-constructed buildings. Many businesses were already up and running, if being run from tents and lean-tos. He could see a pair of gnomes busily at work on some engineering project or another in an open-air workshop. On the tent behind them a sign boasted "Sparkspanner Brothers: Solving the Problems of Tomorrow, Today!"

North and west of the tunnel he saw a larger group of dwarves surrounding a small stone structure that looked like a vault. As he watched a gnome exited the structure, counting out gold coins into a bag. A dwarven bank, then. Not surprising since trade was the primary driving force of the tram's creation, and dwarves weren't the sort to leave their money in the hands of strangers, even if those hands owned a trustworthy and prosperous bank.

In the middle of the area a half-dozen forges had been set up in a circle around a massive heap of coal and a stack of piled timber. A score of dwarven smiths were busy at various projects, most looking too wide-scale to be anything but city-commissioned. One forge, however, was slightly apart from the others, and sported a sign that read "Forgebender's Smithy: Finest Bladesmith in Stormwind, and Lowest Prices too!". The dwarf working at the anvil was broad-shouldered even for one of his kind, and wielded hammer and tongs expertly. Nex liked what he saw, so he approached the open-air forge and rapped on a half-helm sitting on display to draw the dwarf's attention. "A moment of your time?" he said politely.

The dwarf struck a few more blows, looked back, then tossed the metal back into the coals and dabbed at the sweat streaming down his face with a short apron. "Toban Forgebender, at yer service. What can I do for ye?"

"I would like to commission your services," he said to the bulky dwarf. "I need a competent weaponsmith, and you claim to be the best."

Forgebender snorted. "Aye, and I am. Of course I'm the only dwarf in Stormwind accepting private commissions, so the competition is nae too fierce." He paused and looked Nex up and down suspiciously, taking in his travel-stained garb and hollow features. "I only accept commissions paid in advance, and I've already got two contracts to fill. If ye want to pay extra I might be persuaded to bump yer commission to the front, but somehow I doubt ye can even afford me wares."

"No fear there," Nex said. He ducked his hand into a pocket sewn into the inside of his coat and pulled out a few gold coins stamped with the seal of Wrynn on one side and the face of King Anduin on the other. "I trust this will be sufficient to bump my contract to the front. I'm confident you'll give me a fair price for the job itself."

The dwarf gaped at the coins, then at Nex. He looked him up and down once more. "How did a ragged beggar like ye come by gold? I will nae be paid in stolen coins."

"Not stolen. I received a tidy sum from bounties. The village of Mirdas in the Blasted Lands was suffering from an infestation of felhounds. The gold paid out for my services is a matter of public record at the Stormwind bank." Of course it was petty cash compared to the money he'd need if he wanted to go the route of purchasing the Tome of Aegwynn, which was why the bank was his immediate goal.

Forgebender took the coins and bit on one, confirming its purity. "_Ye_ eliminated the infestation?" he repeated dubiously.

"Yes, that too." There had only been a dozen or so felhounds in the pack. He would have destroyed the demons in any case; being paid was simply a bonus. And having the ability to summon more demons and slay them only made the payoff that much better. And best of all was that he'd left Mirdas with the town officials thinking the infestation had been even worse than they'd thought, so rather than being a simple mercenary he was considered a hero for bravely eliminating the threat.

"I'm stunned ye even have the strength to walk about, let alone hunt felhounds," the dwarf said. "If ye have the coins to rub together, a meal or two would nae go amiss."

Nex frowned. His appearance had been a topic of conversation with the dwarfs of Ironforge as well, and they weren't usually noted for perceptiveness outside a smithy. "Do you have a mirror?" he asked. The dwarf looked around and rummaged up a burnished steel roundshield that was as good as a mirror, and Nex glanced at his features. They looked much as they always had; he hadn't had a need to eat for nearly a decade, being able to draw power from the shadows. He did, occasionally, but hadn't had regular meals since the last time he'd been forced to be among humans. Perhaps it was time he started again, if for no reason than to stop the questions.

Oh well, that was a concern for later. "I require thirty blades made," he said, drawing his three remaining knives out of his cloak. One was a small double-pointed throwing dagger with no handle, one was a thin blade that was almost a foot long, and the other was a sturdy, solid dagger for close-quarters fighting with a six inch blade. All were weighted for throwing. "Crafted to resemble these, although you are of course welcome to stamp your fine seal of marksmanship on the products and make any improvements you can."

Forgebender took the knives with a furrowed brow, examining them closely. "Aye, I can do better." He slid his finger along one, and a line of blood welled along the pad of his finger. "Ye keep 'em sharp, at least. Ten of each, then?"

"Fifteen of the small ones, ten of the sturdy ones, five with the slender blades. If it doesn't offend your craftsmanship you can make them cheaper; likely most of them will be used only a few times."

"Aye?" the dwarf scowled at the blades. "I dinnae like making things only to see them destroyed. What purpose did ye mean to put them to?"

Nex frowned in minor annoyance. "My own. How much for the job?"

Forgebender blinked at his tone. "Eh, let me think on it a moment." The dwarf toyed with each of the knives, glanced back at his stock of pig iron, then shrugged. "I can do it fer five Anduins more. A bit of a discount since you overpaid me fer me time."

Nex fished the coins out of their pocket and pressed them into the dwarf's hand. "How long?"

"Should nae be longer than three days."

Nex hesitated, wondering if he had that much time. The sooner he could get the journal and be gone the better. At the same time he had no idea where it was, or how long it would take to find that information. "That should be fine. I'll come around then, in the evening most likely."

"Aye then. Great ta meet ye."

Nex turned his back on the fledgling businesses of the gnomish shanty town and made his way towards the Stormwind Keep gate.

He had a choice, now. One he had to make before he reached the gate. He could try to sneak in and skulk around looking for an item that would likely only be available to the most influential mages. It was possible, with a bit of cleverness, extensive kidnappings and mental interrogations, and some luck, that he could make his way to the journal by that means. It was the one he preferred, because it would allow him to remain in complete obscurity during his hopefully brief stay in Stormwind.

Or he could go with the option of walking in boldly and having his presence known by whichever influential citizens of Stormwind were bribing the gate guards, as well as the royalty in Stormwind Keep. If he went with that option he might end up floating face-down in the canals with a dagger in his back, but there were downsides to it too. One was that his movements would be followed closely, he would have the eye of the nobility, either curious or malicious. And he might be invited to attend social functions, which would surely be a mistake.

An upside would be that he would have a much easier time locating the Journal of Aegwynn. And he might even find a few mages that didn't despise his family that would be willing to deal with him.

The gates were getting closer. It was time to make a decision. Stormrage had hinted that he would regret taking too much time in this task, and the delays in the gnome's tunnel had eaten up much of the time he might have saved in traveling along the surface. It seemed he had little choice but to go with the swiftest method available to him.

Damn.

He reached into a tiny secret pocket sewn next to his heart and pulled out the signet ring. Long after Rachondimus had chased him out of his own home he had learned the dreadlord was on its way north and had snuck back into the cave. It had been surprisingly intact, with less mindless destruction than he would have expected from a nathrezim. Most of the books in the summoning chamber bore demonic residue as if Rachondimus had read them, and the reagents in that chamber were missing or destroyed, but other than that the place was largely untouched.

Lynda's room hadn't even been entered, which was fortunate for him since it contained many useful items. One of them had been this signet ring, although at the time he had been torn between destroying the thing and simply leaving it where it lay. It had been Lynda's, and he hated it because of her connection to it. Even more so because he was connected to it through her. But finally prudence had won out; from the Demonologist's rants he had deduced that humans seemed to value notions like noble blood and ancient families. He didn't give a damn about any of that, but it could be useful.

The ring was surprisingly heavy in his hand, with a wide head engraved with the family seal, wrought of gold so aged it was nearly brown. With it clutched in his fist he marched the rest of the way down the hill to the gate.

The guards had been eying him suspiciously as he approached, and when he reached the gate they visibly moved to block it. "State your business within the city," one of them said, clearly implying that if Nex didn't have any he would be turned away.

Nex fingered the arcane symbol engraved on the signet. "I'm here to settle my family's estates ," he said, slipping the ring onto his finger and displaying it.

Both soldiers stared at it, then at him, in disbelief. "What estates could a rat like you claim? A ragbag and a vermin-infested hovel? I've seen kobolds better dressed than you."

Nex allowed anger to show, for the sake of appearances. "I've been long in my travels, but my family's name is ancient and once well respected."

One of the guards guffawed. "Sure it is. I don't recognize the signet, beggar. Like as not you stole it."

Well, technically he _had_ stolen it. But that didn't make it any less his heritage. "It is the sigil of House Aran. I am Nex, sole surviving member of that house."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

The Calm Before the Storm

House Aran. He refused to claim Aran as his surname; it galled him enough that he had to admit to ties to that house at all. But ties to it he had.

The guards weren't convinced, however. "So you say. But waving a signet doesn't make you a noble. How did you come by this ring?"

Nex stared at the two coldly for a few moments, then produced a few gold coins and tossed one to each man. "I appreciate vigilance, and am gratified to see Stormwind's walls are so secure."

The two glanced with bulging eyes at the gold in their hands, then swiftly tucked them away and stood aside. "Welcome to the city, Lord Aran," one said, even going so far as to bow. Very small chance now that his presence wouldn't sweep through the city like wildfire. But then, if you were going to be noticed, might as well be _noticed_. He immediately forgot about the guards as he entered the city, caught in his own dark thoughts.

Lynda hadn't hated and envied Aegwynn solely for her power. It galled her that the current Guardian of Tirisfal, the most powerful being on Azeroth, had on a whim decided to bear a child. Then, on a further whim, had come to Azeroth and found the most powerful conjurer residing there: the much-respected and influential Nielas Aran, Court Conjurer to King Llane. She had seduced him, born a child, and disappeared, leaving the child behind. Worse still, she had made it obvious she felt nothing but contempt for Nielas, considering him nothing more than a petty purveyor of cheap tricks.

The honor of House Aran had been dragged through the dirt. And worse still, the child that seemed little more than an afterthought was technically its heir. Though as a bastard the child could have been disowned, to do so would bring down upon the house the wrath of the Guardian of Tirisfal. Nielas was a fool, but not so foolish as that. So instead he had fled Azeroth in shame, returning only much later in his life, body and mind both shattered by who knew what.

Nex didn't give a damn about the family history, although he knew it far better than he would ever have wanted. Lynda had ranted about it continuously during his years growing up. Because Medivh the madman had opened the Dark Portal, the most despicable act ever committed in Azeroth, his entire family had been branded traitors and hunted down. The family that had never wanted him, that considered him nothing more than a source of deep shame, had perished because of his actions.

Nex only wished Lynda hadn't managed to escape the witch hunt. Perhaps the others of the Aran household hadn't deserved to die, but she surely had. Or at least she surely would, in the future; she had been little more than a child when all this took place, though he had trouble imagining her as innocent.

He pulled the ring off in disgust and shoved it back into its pocket. To his left was Stormwind Keep, looming tall over the gnomish tunnel and the gate he'd just entered. The massive gates stood open but were certainly not inviting, thanks to two palace guards standing vigilantly to each side. He moved away from the keep, over the canal bridge, and into what was technically referred to as Old Town.

Much of the rest of Stormwind was clean and well-kept, even in the canal districts, but Old Town was obviously the poor part of the city. The houses were rundown, few over a storey high. The cobbles were chipped, the mortar holding them pitted. There were several holes where cobblestones had been pried out, for who knew what purpose. Though Stormwind had an extensive sewer system most of these alleys were completely blocked with rubbish and stank of upended chamberpots. If the denizens of this poverty-stricken place even bothered with chamberpots.

There were several streets to choose from, the one on the left leading to the main barracks for the city guard, the one in the middle leading to tanneries and furriers (which only served to increase the stink of the district), and the one on the right leading towards another gate that led to a different section of the canals. He made his way across those canals, and a finely carved sign informed him that the district he'd just entered was the Trade District. He moved through several busy side streets, all lined with businesses that appeared to be stores on the first floor and apartments for the proprietor on the second, with an occasional third floor that was likely rented out or used to store inventory.

He drew a lot of suspicious stares from the people he passed, thanks to his appearance and clothes. It was becoming more and more apparent that he was going to have trouble brokering an arrangement to purchase the Journal of Aegwynn with his current appearance. There was nothing he could do about his gauntness, but looking like a beggar he could do something about.

With a bit of looking he spied row of clothing stores down a cul-de-sac, and saw a sign carved with a top hat above one. Below the carving the shop named itself "Gentleman's Apparel." Good enough. Nex made his way to the small shop and stepped through the open door.

The walls of the room he entered were lined with bolts of fine cloth, far too many to be genuine even for a shop much more prosperous than this one. He pushed aside the topmost layer on one of the bolts and saw that instead of rolled cloth underneath there was a wooden bolster. Likely the few rolls of cloth the shop boasted would be in a back room. In the middle of the room a handful of mannequins held examples of the shop's wares. Most sported quilted doublets and tight hose, a fashion that Nex had only rarely seen, and usually sported by fools and fops. For most of the nobility the horrors of the war and the hard times following it had produced a more pragmatic fashion. Fine clothes, but suitable for hard travel and not confining or restrictive. He liked to think of it as would-be adventurer's garb.

A scream from behind him turned his head around, and he saw a plain young woman clutching a broom protectively before her. She was staring at him in terror. "Undead!" she shouted, followed by cries for help as she backed herself into a corner.

Undead. False gods of Azeroth, he knew he was ragged and looked half-starved, but really? He silenced the foolish girl by the swiftest means available to him: producing a gold Anduin and holding it up for her inspection.

At the sight of the gold her cries cut off with a strangled grunt. Then, the shock of gold making her lucid far faster than a bucket of cold water to the face, she went red with mortification and shoved the broom behind her back. "Apologies, sir," she said, curtsying. "Please excuse me while I fetch Mistress Olive. But stay and tell me if you see anything you like." She turned and fled into a back room, not in fear but in embarrassment.

Nex wasn't sure whether to find the incident funny or insulting, so settled for responding to both. With a wry smile and only a bit of anger he continued browsing through the store, inspecting the wares. He saw some faded suits, more pragmatically cut but still unsuitable for hard travel. On a table in the corner he found half a dozen folded dustcloaks, half length and of material far too light to be useful for anything but display. By the time "Mistress Olive" arrived he was wondering if he'd come to the right place.

The shop's proprietress was a plump woman, plainly dressed and with graying hair pulled into a no-nonsense bun. She didn't seem the sort to be making or selling such foppish wares. After the introductions Nex got right into it. "I have a difficult order and I'm willing to pay well for it, but I want your assurance you can fill it."

Olive sniffed, affronted. "You'd best be knowing I'm quick with a needle, sir, and my seams are straight."

"Are they?" Nex looked around the room. The clothes were well-stitched, true. "Very well then. I require two sets of clothes that make my status as a wealthy and influential citizen of Stormwind very clear. At the same time I want them to be sturdy, suitable for hard travel by foot mind you, and not too ostentatious. I'd like a hooded cloak as well, dark-colored and large enough to cover me, and a pair of sturdy boots. And as somewhat of a custom affair, I'd like pockets sewn into the inside of the cloak and shirt. I'd like them soon, within two hours if possible."

The graying woman sniffed again. "Oh, _those_ sorts of clothes. The nouveau riche look. Well I could recommend you to a place where you can be fitted for such, but-"

Nex produced a few gold coins and pressed them into her palm. "If you please, I'm happy to give you a finder's fee. Take my measurements, find or produce the clothes within two hours, and I'll pay double the price."

Olive gaped at the gold in her hand, then burst into action. "Sara, run by the Modern Adventurer and get me a full manifest of their inventory," she snapped, producing a measuring cord as if by magic and bustling Nex out of his pack, cloak, shirt, and breeches. Nex stood stiffly as she looped the cord around his waist, trying not to flinch at her touch. He felt almost as if he were under attack, and it took him a moment to realize he was embarrassed.

Ridiculous. He didn't care what anyone thought of him, certainly not females of a race he only barely considered his own. Trying not to be obvious about it, he glanced over his shoulder and saw with relief that Sara was already out the door. She wasn't much to look at anyway.

The seamstress was _tsk_ing as she measured. "Land's sakes, my Lord. Don't take this as criticism, but you look as if you haven't had a decent meal your whole life. I've seen men dead of hunger with more meat on their bones. Why, I could play a merry tune on your ribs. Give me a moment during this madness and I'll see you get some bread and cheese at least. But Light almighty, don't you be eating it fast or you're like to make yourself sick." She _tsk_ed again. "A body isn't meant to go hungry like this, no indeed. Why, if you'd just come in as a beggar I'd have seen you fed at least."

She kept up the inane chatter as she worked, and strangely enough Nex's embarrassment disappeared under its constant stream. Of course, that was likely because he was beginning to feel embarrassed for her and the way she seemed to completely detach her tongue from her brain and let it run free.

By the time Sara came sprinting into the store, red-faced and panting and with a long paper streaming behind her, Nex was clothed again and sitting in a chair in a corner, gnawing on a heel of bread and juggling cheese and jerked meat in his hands as he ate. Perhaps Mistress Olive's advice to eat slowly was sound; the more he ate, the more his stomach rumbled in protest, and he was starting to feel uncomfortable flashes of shooting pain in his gut.

But he continued to eat, slowly and grimly amidst the whirlwind of activity around him. He supposed he enjoyed the food, and certainly he'd ignored hunger pangs for so long that feeling them sated had its own mindless pleasure. But mostly he watched the two women huffing and puffing and leaving the store at a dead run on this or that errand, and he wondered how long and far he'd have to run before he looked so obviously winded. One of the strongest emotions he always felt when among humans was a confusing mixture of contempt, amusement, and envy. Watching them, he briefly wondered what it would be like to feel simple weariness rather than complete and total mental and physical exhaustion. To rest for a moment panting against a doorway to gather up the energy to run once more, rather than collapsing comatose, as much from wielding massive power destructive to is own body as from weariness.

When the hour was up his order was not yet filled, but when his clothes finally arrived he paid the promised amount, as much for their efforts as for their timeliness. Mistress Olive gave him the privacy of a bucket of water in the alley behind her shop for him to wash with, and even a bar of rough soap she used for washing clothes. It was a surprisingly refreshing feeling to be clean and putting on new clothes. And they were fine, and looked like they would withstand some abuse, and fit well enough that he could move freely in them.

He gave her his old clothes, which looked like rags compared to his new garments. Likely making them into rags would be the only use she could find for them, but she seemed pleased all the same, thanking him effusively for his generosity. Likely it was the four gold she was grateful for, not the rags.

In new clothes, with his hair washed and tied back into a queue with a rawhide tie, Nex felt like he was ready to meet his banker.

. . . . .

The main square that made up the center of the Trade District was crowded, uncomfortably so. The avenue that led to the city's main inner gates was broad enough for four wagons to drive abreast with room for foot traffic on either side, but half of the avenue's width was taken up wagons parked on the sides, their drivers hawking wares. Crude merchant stalls were squeezed between the wagons, opening made only to allow entrance to one of the businesses lining the street.

Nex pushed through it as quickly and quietly as he could, using his second sight and finely honed reflexes to move in a near straight line without colliding with anyone or having to slow. The broad avenue ended in a huge circle in the center of the square, surrounded by massive businesses, one of which was the city auction house. But before the avenue ended it branched into two wide cross-streets: one of which Nex had just exited from, and the other of which led to the bank. That street was more closely patrolled by city guards, kept clear of vendors and wagons, and it passed by some large inns and merchant guild chapter houses before reaching the bank. Nex walked past all these, turned a hard left into a street that ended with a smaller but more upscale square fronting the bank, with no lanes or even alleyways branching off from it. The bank was a a major power in Stormwind, and it shunned no precaution against robbers or bandits. This smaller square had a statue of some noble figure in plate in the middle overtopping a fountain, which though well-cut seemed dingy and gray compared to the nearly blinding white of the bank's stone.

The structure had been cunningly designed. While it was one of the largest buildings in the district, and by far the cleanest and best maintained, it had been constructed in a blocky, solid way that suggested an impermeable vault. Except for the front. All carved stone so white it made the rest of the area seem dingy, it had a long staircase of wide steps leading up to a columned area that was elegant yet austere. Nex hadn't seen this type of architecture anywhere else in the city, but he had seen it in ruins he had explored. The overall effect was of a solid, secure vault, ancient yet prosperous. There was no sign proclaiming the building's purpose, but there didn't need to be. One look and any fool could see it was a bank.

He made his way up the wide stairs towards the single massive door, open during business hours, that led into the bank. Two guards flanked it in shining gold-chased armor, and both looked at him with stern but polite suspicion. Neither, however, spoke to him or tried to bar his way. Nex wondered how roughly they would've turned him away had he been wearing his old rags.

Within the bank continued the trend of massive, solid austerity. The room before him made up perhaps half of the building's size, with a thirty foot ceiling and a seemingly endless expanse of plain white marble floor. At the end of the room away from the door a sturdy wall closed off the vault area with only a single door at the right end and a single window in the middle. The window was barred with steel bars so thick that not even an ogre could have bent them, and behind it a single teller stood. The vault door was even thicker than the outer door, and reinforced with mithril. It would take an army to rob this place, and Nex didn't envy them the task.

Before the single window a maze of satin ropes guided the handful of patrons into an orderly line, creating a sort of looping partition that would have been large enough to accommodate over a hundred patrons, and seemed comical with only the half-dozen waiting there. Nex glanced at the maze and the patrons in contempt, then walked around it to the window and tapped the patron currently being served on the shoulder. "Please conclude your business after I have gone," he said tersely.

The man turned slowly towards him, disbelief swiftly darkening to anger. He was a large man, bulky with muscles and well-dressed. "What did you say?" he demanded.

Nex focused his power and leaned on the man's mind. Hard. "I said go away. I have business to attend to." The man blinked at him with the expression of a stunned cow, then backed away slowly. Nex turned to the teller, a pretty young woman with long dark hair wearing a simple but well-cut dress. "I wish to speak with the owner of this bank, a John Burnside."

The woman stared at him with wide eyes, then glanced at the customer he'd displaced. "Y-you do?"

Nex made no response, simply returning her stare, but she showed no sign of doing anything but gaping for the foreseeable future. With a sigh he fished into his pack and withdrew a bundle of letters. Untying the string with deliberate slowness, he opened the first envelope, withdrew the paper inside, and began to read. "Dear Madam Lynda. It grieves me to report to you that your investments within Old Town have incurred a significant loss. Though I had been certain the district, due to its proximity to the keep, must certainly receive the Crown's first attention in the city's renovations, it seems that Olin Marcus, the Royal Architect, as elected to focus the Crown's funds on creating new districts..." Nex trailed off and looked up. "It continues in that vein, and is signed at the bottom "John Burnside. Manager, Stormwind City Bank."

The woman shook her head in confusion. "My father is...that is, Master Burnside is engaged in other business. If you could tell me who you are, I can-"

Nex withdrew the signet and slapped it down on the window's sill with a sharp _click_. "Nex, sole heir of House Aran. Don't pretend you don't know the name or that you have no customers by that name. This bank has managed Lynda Aran's accounts for a long while. Now I'm going to wait at this window while you go get John Burnside."

The tread of booted feet sounded behind him, and Nex turned to see one of the bank guards standing close by. "Is there a problem, Mistress Eve?" he asked. His expression made it clear his concern for the young woman was more than merely professional.

By the way her face flushed, it was obvious she knew it, too. "No, Madav, there's no problem. Please watch the line for a moment." She turned and fled the small space behind the window through another heavy door, deeper into the bank. Nex heard the patrons waiting in line behind him grumbling and muttering, and could feel several angry glares directed at him. He ignored them and the bank guard both, waiting patiently at the window.

When the girl Even finally returned it was not to the window, but through the door to the far right end of the wall. With her was an older man, finely dressed and sporting a neat mustache. He looked at Nex and his eyes widened slightly before he could control himself. With a stiff stride he made his way towards them. "Master...Nex, was it? I am John Burnside. My daughter tells me you claim to be the heir of House Aran. But of course that cannot be true, because Lynda Aran has been dead for nearly five years, and she never spoke to me of a son."

"Perhaps she was ashamed of me. But in any case I _am_ the heir of my house. And for the sake of the bank's reputation we should continue this conversation in private."

Burnside's eyes narrowed, and he made a motion towards the guard Madav, who put a hand on his sword. "We will not continue this conversation at all unless you can prove your identity to me."

Nex slipped the ring onto his finger and extended it. "Don't pretend you don't recognize this, banker. You shared a long written correspondence with my mother, and had to have seen letters with its seal before."

Burnside looked at the arcane seal and reluctantly nodded. "I recognize the ring. And my daughter tells me you possessed a number of Mistress Aran's letters. But it seems to me far more likely you are a robber and an imposter than that my deceased client had a secret child she didn't feel the need to tell me of." He turned away. "Madav, escort this man from my bank, and alert the city guard of him."

There was some dirty business going on behind this, Nex was sure. He'd seen bankers before. Smaller banks, in smaller cities, but much the same. They all shared the slightly oily, ubiquitous air of people who knew they were becoming wealthy with other people's money, and only by keeping the friendship of those with money could they continue to do so. That Burnside was openly denying his claim and ordering him removed from bank premises made it seem all the more likely that the man was doing something dishonest with his family's money.

Normally he wouldn't have given even the briefest damn about the money, his family, or a crooked banker. But at the moment he needed that wealth, and more importantly he needed to be acknowledged a member of the Aran family, to facilitate the forming of contacts within the mage tower so he could approach whoever held the Journal of Aegwynn.

So before the guard could make a move Nex darted forward and caught the banker by the arm, then turned to the small huddle of patrons in the line. "Attend, all of you. This man is trying to cheat my family." With a great deal of show brought his finger to his mouth and bit it, hard enough to draw blood. Watching Burnside's face closely, he then pressed his bloody finger down against the arcane seal on the ring.

There was a flash of blue light, and then a transparent image formed above the seal, a bust of a powerful young man with light blue eyes and laughing features. Burnside's eyes bulged, and a look of panic crossed his features, again quickly controlled.

Nex passed his hand through the image and it wavered, then shifted to show another young man, darker and more sober, but also smiling. With another sweep of his hand that man was replaced by another, then another, and finally by a woman Nex recognized well, and that he knew Burnside did also. "The ring is an heirloom of a very magical family," he said quietly. "It remembers the blood of its masters, and their faces. Look." He passed his hand, far more violently this time, through Lynda's image, and his own appeared. Not smiling, but brooding darkly into some unknown distance, expression drawn into a look of anger and bitterness. Nex liked to feel that even his image loathed being forced into such company as the memory of his ancestors held within the ring's matrix.

A murmur rose up from the onlookers at the sight, and Burnside shifted uneasily. "You could simply be a charlatan hedge-wizard, with just enough knowledge to-" he cut off with a gasp when Nex tightened his fingers around his arm.

"No, Burnside. If you continue to dispute my heritage we will stop these games and take this matter before the king. I know the Aran family history far more intimately than any outsider. I closely resemble the woman who gave me birth, Lynda Aran, and can describe her closely and tell of her past. It will not be hard to prove my identity. And once that is done with I will petition the king for redress, since we placed our money within your bank's care, trusting that it would remain safe, and you have obviously cheated us."

Another murmur spread through the crowd, angry this time. Nobody liked to think they were being cheated by a banker, especially when they'd put a large amount of their savings in that banker's care. If Burnside did not handle this situation carefully it could swiftly devolve into a panic as customers withdrew their money. Banks tended to be far freer with other people's money than those people would ever be, and their success depended on continued confidence in the bank. If enough people withdrew their accounts Burnside could be a pauper within the week.

Burnside obviously realized it as well. "There is no need to speak of being cheated," he said, becoming angry himself. "I assure you we were faithful with the trust your mother saw fit to bestow upon us, and adhered to the letter of the law in dealing with your family's estate after her death."

Nex released his arm. "Then let's go somewhere private and speak of it."

. . . . .

When Nex left the bank two hundred gold Anduins weighted down his belt, with the promise of ten times that amount waiting for him.

It was a travesty, of course. The Aran estate had been pillaged to nearly nothing in the chaos of the First Orcish War, but even so it had been extensive, the Arans one of the wealthiest families in Azeroth before the Dark Portal. And though the peasantry had plundered most of that wealth that which had been kept in trust could not legally be stolen, and so had remained.

Lynda had squandered much of that. Like Nex himself, she had cared little for the wealth, putting it into Burnside's hands to do with what he would. Even in his letters it was obvious the banker had long ago stopped pretending to do anything but steal their gold and claim it was losses incurred from "bad investments". By the time Lynda had died their fortune was less than twenty thousand Anduins. In the case of extinction of a noble family their lands and wealth naturally reverted back to the Crown, but the Aran lands had been close to the Dark Portal and were still largely unclaimable, and what remained of its wealth was claimed by the bank as debts incurred by, of course, bad investments.

It had taken considerable arm twisting (and mind twisting for that matter), to get Burnside to concede to even a hint of any of this, and more effort still to reclaim any of that gold. Twenty-two hundred Anduins was a small fortune in its own right, though a pathetic sum compared to what had been lost. But Nex was satisfied, since with any luck it would be enough to purchase a tome that most mages considered fairly worthless, more a legacy of the Last Guardian than a magical text in its own right.

Now the hard part. He had to find a way to contact the mages and enter into negotiations with them. The best thing would be to find an exotic goods broker and work through him, but first Nex thought it best to scout out the mage tower and see what things looked like there. So he went straight up the street towards where it turned left into a broad arched tunnel that led through the canals, over a bridge, and into the Mage District.

Near the inn closest to the bank a guard in gold-chased armor, an officer, was leaning against a tree that had been planted in a small square of earth cut out of the cobbles, chatting with a pretty young woman who looked like she had just come out of the inn's kitchen. Flour covered her hands and her face was flushed, although it could be that that wasn't entirely from the heat of the kitchen she had just escaped. Nex hoped both were finished with their work, or they'd likely soon be sacked for abandoning their posts.

The officer glanced at him curiously, but his attention was drawn back to his would-be lover when she surreptitiously took his hand. Nex passed them and continued on his way, nearly to arched opening to the canal district when someone spoke by his right ear.

"Help a poor bloke out?"

Nex swore and leapt sideways, one hand going to the knife at his belt, and looked at the man who had appeared as if from nowhere. As it turned out the man had popped out of a small alleyway, at the end of which was an area with ramshackle buildings that could only generously be called seedy. So hiding behind Stormwind's largest buildings in the Trade District the city had its unfortunates as well. Amazing how no matter how pretty the front looked, a peek around the back always disappointed.

"What the hell do you want?" he said irritably. He wasn't sure if his anger was for the beggar in front of him or for his failure to sense the man.

The beggar seemed surprised, both by his reaction and his attitude. He was a simple-looking man, with a ferret's face and body. His clothes were shabby, but still sound. "No disrespect, friend," he said quickly, "jus' wondering if you had a few copper to spare for a poor man fallen on hard times."

Three hours ago Nex might have looked like the beggar between the two of them, but now he appeared respectable enough to attract panhandlers. He wasn't sure if it was a welcome change or not. "What makes you think I have any copper to spare?"

The beggar looked at his clothes significantly, then jerked his head towards the bank. "Came from there, din't you?" Nex considered this, then fished around in his belt pouch, past various odds and ends, until he found a coin. When he pulled it out it turned out to be silver, not copper, but he gave it to the wretch anyway. The man grinned at him and tipped an imaginary hat. "Obliged. Friends call me Topper."

"Am I your friend then, Topper?" Nex asked, pointedly looking at the silver.

"Spect you could be, iff'n you was to give me another o' these."

Nex hesitated, then walked over and leaned against the wall near "Topper". He didn't think the man could be of any use to him, but it never hurt to get information, as well as a possible ally. Beggars tended to know a lot of the wealthy people in a city, and were generally good judges of their character.

"Why do they call you Topper?"

The man winked. "Always making sure me ale's filled up to the very top. Don't get much of a chance to taste any, so I make sure I get what I pay for."

"What _you_ pay for?" Nex asked pointedly, looking at the pocket where Topper had tucked his silver.

"Comes from me own hand, and never mind how I got it." Topper sat down on an empty wooden box near the alley's entrance. From the familiar way he settled back it was obvious he spent most of his time there. "It's all the Alliance's fault, y'know."

Nex frowned, confused and starting to get impatient. "What is?"

"What else?" The man waved at the alley and his little box. "I should be on me farm, making an honest living. Instead here I am, struggling off the generosity of them what wronged me."

"What happened?"

Topper brightened. It was obviously not every day he got a willing ear. "I had me farm up in south Lordaeron, near Southshore. We hears orcs is coming, breaking free of their internment camps up on the border between Alterac's ruins and Dalaran. Seems they was in a big hurry, just wanting to pass through, but them bastards in the army decides to put up a blockade. Built a guard tower right behind me farm, they did, with Connel's farm over to the left and Abri's mill to the right. 'Course the orcs see any sign of Lordaeron troops and they just has to kill 'em, the bloodthirsty brutes, so they burns me farm to the ground and storms the tower."

"How terrible." Nex glanced up at the sun, wondering if he could find an excuse to break away. If the man wasn't giving him any information he needed there really was no reason to talk to him. As fascinating as it was to hear about all this. He rolled his eyes. "It must have been a terrible time, getting down here all the way from up there."

Topper shook his head. "Nah, they jus' moved us all down in wagons. Offered me a job at some mill in the Redridge mountains, but I din't want nothing to do with the army, so I came here to try my luck. Now I'm just trying to survive these harsh streets until I can find meself a job."

Nex looked around at the clean gray cobblestones and white walls. Harsh streets indeed. And he had a sneaking suspicion Topper had been here a while "looking for a job". He was just about to ask how long when a voice from behind spun them both around.

"Wrynn's beard, Mcnabb." It was the officer talking. "Stormwind's got enough problems without vagrants like you hassling honest citizens. What's the matter, can't beg a spare off of anyone who knows your tricks?" The man laughed, not exactly unkindly. "Human generosity just isn't what it was."

Topper spat. "There's what I think o' your human generosity." With a baleful glance at the officer he disappeared down the alleyway.

Nex was surprised at Topper's attitude. Most beggars who couldn't get along with city guards didn't stay beggars long. At least not in that city. Apparently the officer was surprised as well.

"Must have missed his lunch ale." He shook his head wearily. "Damn that man, sometimes I-" he broke off suddenly and glared at Nex. "Here now, last thing this city needs is folks encouraging Topper. What's your business here?"

Nex forced a smile, hoping it didn't look forced. "I apologize if I acted out of turn. I was raised to be kind to beggars, dogs, and orphans." Like hell he was. But it was something he'd heard a man say once, and it had seemed to go over well with the crowd. "I'm just here in Stormwind on business for a day or so, no more than three, and then I'll be back out again."

The officer's stern look faded. "Now now, boy, I wasn't trying to boot you out." He held out his hand, "I'm Corporal Taggart." Nex looked at the hand suspiciously, wondering if he could get away with refusing it. Doubtful, he finally took it and shook once, then let go as if it was burning hot. He'd never been a fan of human contact, particularly not with armed men. Taggart didn't seem to mind, or if he did didn't show it. "New to the city then, are you?"

"I am. Fresh from hard travels." Nex paused, wondering if there was information he could winkle out of the officer. Guardsmen tended to know quite a bit of gossip, especially those on patrol as this officer obviously was.

Taggart looked Nex over critically. "Hard travels, eh? You certainly look it, boy' I don't see an extra ounce of flesh anywhere on you. Half the women in Stormwind would see you and next thing you knew you'd be getting your face stuffed with food. That is, they would if you didn't-" he cut off suddenly, and his face reddened. "Listen, lad. If your business has anything to do with them warlocks up in the Slaughtered Lamb, I'd be careful."

Nex felt his blood heat, and felt the rage slowly building. "Stormwind shelters warlocks?" he asked quietly.

"Aye," Taggart said, looking surprised at his reaction. "They're desperate to be welcomed, swear they fight the foes of Azeroth as stalwartly as any man of the army. But they're a queer bunch, keep to themselves and look down on those not in their circles. And..." He looked around, then whispered. "I hear they use _demons_."

Nex's anger boiled over. "Anyone who allies himself with demons is no friend of Azeroth or their own people," he spat. "Only a fool thinks he can use demons, even to fight other demons."

The guard smiled at him genuinely for the first time. "Well it may not be the popular opinion up in the Keep right now, but I feel just the same as you." He suddenly straightened. "But this kind of talk isn't for a nice day like this. Listen, I'm friends with the barkeep at the Pig and Whistle Tavern in Old Town, where most of the guard likes to drink. I'll give you directions to get there, and you can trot on over and tell him Taggart sent you. He'll see you get a good meal at a reasonable price, and a mug of ale on me."

Nex smiled a distracted smile, still thinking of warlocks. "My thanks, Taggart."

Taggart laughed and clapped him on the shoulder, giving him directions to the Tavern. In fact Nex had likely passed it on his way to the bank. But at the moment he had a far more pressing concern than a bad meal and bad ale at a dive of a tavern, though he'd keep it in mind for the future. He turned back towards Old Town, but once Taggart was out of sight ducked into the first alley he found. The seedy area behind the Stormwind auction house was peopled by beggars and other such riffraff, but he was looking for a particular one.

He found Topper tucked into a box that looked as if it had been used to ship armor at one point, though long ago because now it was badly rotted and the nails were rusting and getting pushed out of the warped wood. He tossed another silver into the box, getting the beggar's full attention. "All right. Now that we're friends, how about you tell me everything you know about warlocks staying at the Slaughtered Lamb."

. . . . .

Corporal Taggart strode past the two bank guards and into the grand but austere interior. Part of his route involved a quick perusal of the inside of the bank. Not because it was part of his assigned patrol, but because John Burnside, the bank's manager, slipped a silver into his pocket every week. Security wasn't the only reason the bank kept him on its payroll, of course.

He walked over to Burnside, who was in one corner of the spacious room pacing anxiously. "All's well, sir," he said. Of course Burnside would be the judge of that, and from the way he was pacing all certainly didn't _look_ well.

Burnside glared at him. "You couldn't have been here five minutes ago, Taggart?" he demanded.

"Sir?"

"We've just been robbed! A filthy thief sauntered in here and stole away a fifth of this bank's liquid assets!"

Taggart dropped his hand to his sword. "A gaunt fellow, pale and half-starved? I spoke with him not half a minute ago. If I hurry I can probably catch him." He suited his words by whirling and was just about to run from the bank.

Burnside caught his arm. "Don't be a fool! I wasn't speaking literally, of course."

"What?" Taggart turned back around. "Did he rob you or didn't he?"

"Only in a matter of speaking. We've spent years convincing the Crown that the Aran family assets should be ours by rights because of debts owed to us. Normally when a family goes extinct any wealth is reverted to the Crown treasury, but for once we managed to hold onto the wealth our own efforts earned. And then what should happen, but some scrawny whelp with a signet ring and a bundle of letters and claims it all back. We'll be years recovering from this loss." Burnside started pacing again, then abruptly stopped. "No, not this time. Time for you to earn your keep, Corporal."

Taggart blinked. "Sir?"

"Stormwind has enough refugees blowing in on the breeze, begging and stirring up trouble and the like. I don't care how finely this Nex character is dressed, he's got the eyes of a criminal." Burnside strode forward and drove a hard finger into Taggart's breastplate. "I want you to find out what crimes this criminal is committing, and see him permanently thrown out of the city for them."

"What if he isn't committing any crimes?"

If anything, the banker's anger increased. "I didn't ask you to do your job, Taggart. I asked you to do the job I've been paying you well for almost two years to do! Find a reason to kick this son of a bitch from my city, and do it yesterday!"

Taggart kept his face still, but inwardly smiled. He smelled a pay raise. "Misusing my authority could cost me my job. And you don't pay me enough to break the law for you."

"Do this, Corporal, and I'll see you're well rewarded. Very well rewarded."

He had best. Taggart smiled smugly. "As it happens, I've already started watching him. I sent him to the guardsman's tavern in Oldtown for a meal and a drink. Billy there knows I only do that with fellows who warrant closer scrutiny. He'll see the boy is watched, and I assure you it won't be hard finding a reason to give the boot to a shady character like that."

"Good." Burnside turned away and began pacing again. "I want him gone. I've spent too long proving the Aran family line was dead only to have it be resurrected again."

Taggart left the bank quickly, making for the alleys. For whatever reason, that Nex fellow had been talking with Mcnabb. It was time for him to do the same.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Cast Out

The Slaughtered Lamb. It appeared the beggar's information had been good; above the door, part of a fanciful filigree, he could see demonic runes inviting all aficionados of dark magic to a place of refuge. It also stank of demonic magic, and he could see wards around the door, also hidden within filigree. Most were powerful enchantments targeting demons, meant to keep them from getting out, not in.

He wasn't surprised by those wards, or what they meant. It seemed the constant goal of warlocks and demonologists to push their limits, usually faster than their growing power could handle. Lynda was not the first fool who had learned her own weakness to her dismay, and her mistake wasn't even the greatest that had ever been made by those like her.

What surprised him, however, was that the Slaughtered Lamb was in the Mage District. His previous experience was that mages loathed students of the dark arts, despised them with unthinking passion. And warlocks, demonologists, necrolytes, and the like generally felt nothing but contempt for mages, whom they felt limited themselves to only certain schools of magic, rather than opening themselves to the mysteries of the arcane world.

But then, perhaps it was no surprise that the warlocks congregated here. The mages would want to be able to keep close tabs on the fools studying demonic magic in their city, as well as the Church of Light in Cathedral Square. The only access points to the Slaughtered Lamb passed right by the magetower and through Cathedral Square, and likely both access points were closely watched. The warlocks likely went along with the close scrutiny because they didn't want to foster further ill-will with the citizens of Stormwind. They had enough of that to contend with already, if Topper's words could be believed.

Aside from the wards protecting against demons breaking out of the inn there was another one, very strong, that was meant to protect against magical attacks. Shadow attacks; apparently the warlocks of Stormwind feared their own more than any outside power.

They should. Nex clenched his hands slowly open and closed. Open and closed. He was unconsciously drawing the shadows to him, building his power up ever stronger at the expense of his vitality. Around the door the ward was glowing dully, on the point of activating just from his latent power. He'd encountered such wards before, and he knew how to diffuse or overwhelm it.

He wanted to so badly. He wanted to break it all, call hellfire down on this foul place. The gods-cursed fools. How could they be so blind as to think they had control while accepting demonic powers and summoning lesser demons? The first dark rituals they'd engaged in had tied a thin string around their souls, and every time they wielded their power it wrapped ever tighter and grew ever thicker. Eventually they'd be lost, slaves to the Burning Legion, and the demons they'd summoned would be controlling _them_.

If he attacked the warlocks he'd surely die. Even if he somehow managed to surprise them and slay them all the mages would come from the south, and the priests and paladins would come from the east. He wanted to. But he wasn't going to waste his life on little fish swimming in their little bowl, pretending they had something. They were Stormwind's problem, and Stormwind would deal with them, or not. He had a task to be about, and more powerful demons than these insects could summon to destroy.

He pushed his new cloak aside to keep his hands free. Then, because in this tavern it was likely convention, he lifted his hood to completely obscure his face and strode to the door. The ward pulsed brighter in warning, and he reined his power in, obscuring it from external investigation. Then he pushed open the door and went inside. It took quite a bit of effort to not let any of his hatred for those who waited within show.

And...that was going to be difficult. In an alcove to his right six hooded figures seated around an oval table whispered over large tankards of ale. Beneath the table an imp's tail swished as the little demon ducked out of sight. Along the walls wards were carved, and dark symbols pulsing with power. Traps, some of them, and others were defenses. Some were obviously for concealing the room from magical prying, and a few seemed to be designed for some magical prying of their own. He had seen solid magical defenses before; Lynda the Demonologist's cave had boasted some of the finest he had ever encountered. But these defenses made any others he had ever seen seem like a joke.

This was not a simple gathering place for amateur occult enthusiasts. It wasn't even the refuge of a few demonologists huddling in the shadows for protection against persecution. This was a fortified outpost, easily as well defended as the mage tower a few streets over.

And the defenses weren't all magical. To the side of the door a massive figure loomed, hooded and cloaked and booted. Nex saw the very tip of a tail peeking out from beneath the cloak. A felguard. Behind the bar lounged a man who appeared to be a simple barkeep, except for the tatoos on his wrists, mostly covered by the cuffs of his shirt, which signified a member of the Twilight Cult, the bastard offshoot of the Twilight's Hammer clan that had the backing of a very powerful being, from what he had heard in dark circles. A dog lounging beside his master's chair at another table showed the subtle signs of an illusion, likely hiding the beast's demonic nature.

His sweep of the room took only a few moments, and he was striding to the bar. "Ale. Whatever's on tap," he said in demonic. There, about as blatant an introduction as he could make as to his nature.

The barkeep stiffened slightly at hearing that tongue, but showed no sign of understanding it. "Sorry, sir?"

Nex looked at the wards right behind the cultist's head. "Don't play games with me, barkeep. I can see, and twice as well as some." There, another blatant hint. "This is no ordinary bar, and you're no ordinary barkeep, and I don't have time to dance around denials."

The barkeep looked at him hard for a moment, dark eyes revealing something besides sullen disinterest for a brief moment. "Suit yourself," he said as he selected a surprisingly clean mug and filled it with a surprisingly fine ale. The barrel was stamped with the sigil of some farm in Westfall. "I do not recognize you. Have you been in the city long?"

Nex accepted the mug and took a swallow. It tasted as good as it looked. "Not long. And chances are not much longer either. The mood in the city seems rather tense for those who speak the wrong language."

"Don't be too hasty, now," the cultist said, his tone implying he really didn't care. His words belied that, however. "The only language we need to speak is money, and we have some very eloquent diplomats in the keep."

"I'm more worried about those that let knives do the talking down in the canals," Nex said. "But enough of this. I need information, and I can pay."

"Can you?" The barkeep glanced over towards a door that led deeper into the building, them moved away and began some inane task, completely ignoring Nex. A moment later Nex felt a magical presence probing his mental defenses.

"I would stop that," he said idly, not looking around at his attacker. "If I have to break you all your pretty wards will be activated, and you'll be weeks getting them sorted out again."

There was a collective hiss of indrawn breath from the figures at the table, but the mental intrusions ceased. A moment later a shadowy figure slipped onto the bar stool next to his. "Ale," the figure said, his voice coming out in a dry whisper. Nex wondered if the man was just trying for dramatic effect or if he really spoke like that. Either way it wouldn't do to ask; whoever this newcomer was, he wasn't weak. The barkeep poured him a mug and then went back to his inane task. The figure took a tiny sip, staring forward with his hood pulled down low. "You lack manners, friend. Coming into our home, upsetting our good Jarel with your business, acting as if just because you know a few words in demonic you're one of us. This tavern does not welcome strays off the street, we do not do business with outsiders, and it is time for you to leave."

Nex laughed, and the figure started slightly. "The carrot and the stick, is it? You have your barkeep hint at what you can do for me, then you come along and make me want in all the more by telling me I can't. By your wards I know you're not amateurs. Since you summon demons I'll not say you aren't fools, but at least you have power. And influence, our good friend Jarel suggests."

The figure turned to him, and under the hood Nex caught a glimpse of a face rotted with decay, eyes glowing a cold blue. Undead. "Our position in the city is tenuous, in spite of our friends. We can't afford to mingle with people who prefer to use a hammer, when the only weapon it is safe to use is a subtle knife." Nex said nothing, and the undead sighed. "Translated for you I mean that you're brash and arrogant, and whatever you're offering we don't need, while the trouble you bring we don't want. Again I tell you to leave, and this time I'm afraid I must insist."

Nex reached into his cloak and pulled out the bag with the two hundred Anduins, dropping it on the table with an audible _clink_. It was a large bag. "What you take for brashness is in fact urgency. I have a job that needs doing, the sooner the better. I'm willing to be generous."

The undead undid the strings and opened the bag, running a gloved finger idly through the clinking coins within. "You think this is what opens doors within the Slaughtered Lamb?" he said softly in his decayed voice. He drew the strings once more and shoved the bag at Nex. "Tell me your errand, at the least."

Nex kept the gold on the bar. "I need to obtain a tome in the possession of a mage living in the tower. I can purchase it for a fairly generous price, but if I must use other means I will."

The undead laughed softly. It was a sound to raise a normal man's hackles. "Carrot and stick, you say. Very well, since you're too foolish to heed the stick we must return to the carrot. I have a contact within the mage tower. He has in the past been very reliable. As a gnome, living in Ironforge far from the conflicts with orcs, Scourge, or demons, he was never involved in the collapse of Lordaeron and the coming of the Scourge, or the battle at Mount Hyjal and the defeat of the Burning Legion. His curiosity is greater than his caution, and he has an endless appetite for knowledge no matter the source. He is also an inveterate scrounger and collector, and has furnished us with magical items of a, let us say, darker nature that other mages intended to destroy. If I introduce you to him, chances are very good he can help you find what you seek."

"I seem to remember you saying you didn't do business with outsiders."

"And so we don't." The undead sniffed in deeply, blue pinpoints of light within its sockets glowing brighter. Nex knew the creature could sense his power. "It seems the only thing to do is draw you under our wing. It is not a difficult process; a simple ceremony, a trifling oath, and you become our brother. Bound to us."

Bound to them. And so it must be. Warlocks were loners, self-destructive and even more dangerous to their rivals. They had no alliances among their peers, at best only temporary truces. If the warlocks in Stormwind had this level of cohesiveness it meant they were tying initiates to them with strong blood rites and oaths. In other groups, whether they be a tower of mages or a barracks of guards, oaths may be used, by they were reinforced by loyalty and shared goals. Here in this den of power-mongering backstabbers only magic could achieve the same results. Likely a terrible curse that fell upon any traitors.

Nex stood, sweeping up the gold and tying it back at his belt. "It seems I waste my time here. If you change your mind about selling your services you'll find me easy to contact." Without a backwards glance he left the tavern and slipped away into the city. So the warlocks thought they were dealing from a position of power, and were unwilling to relent. Well, they'd hinted more than once that their position was tenuous, and others Nex had talked to suggested the same.

Perhaps they'd deal better from a position of weakness. It was time to see just _how_ tenuous their place in the city was.

. . . . .

After the brash boy had gone Jarel Moor and Doran Havel exchanged troubled glances.

"He was powerful," Havel said gravely.

Moor snorted. "I didn't need to tickle his mind to figure that out. Did you feel the _artuk guz'vhel_ ward going crazy just before he came in?"

It was the undead's turn to smile, viciously. "I didn't need to hear some ward for that. When he was gathering his power outside it felt like the Maelstrom had appeared outside our door."

There was a long silence. "We could have killed him," one of the warlocks at the table offered.

Moor shrugged. "Maybe. But he had a point when he suggested that the wards would be a bugger to replace."

"And if he comes back?" Havel asked in his dry papery voice.

Before a reply could be made the door crashed open and a guardsman in the gold-enameled armor of an officer of the city guard stomped in. He glanced around the tavern darkly, then strode to the bar and leaned against it, directly in front of Jarel Moor. "Listen carefully, wretches. The prevailing mood in the city puts you in a very tricky spot. It won't take much effort for me to cause you lot a great deal of trouble. But luckily for you there's some information you can give me which will allow me to leave this shithole and gladly forget it exists."

Moor and Havel exchanged glances, and then Havel lifted his hands and muttered a few words of power. His spell smashed through the guardsman's mental defenses with relative ease. "Corporal Taggart, is it?" the undead said after a long silence. "It seems you're interested in this fellow who just visited our bar." He glanced over at Moor. "His name is Nex Aran."

"Aran, eh?" Moor said, rubbing his chin. "Think he has any relation to the great Lord Medivh?"

"I hope to the Nether he doesn't." Havel frowned. "Apparently ours aren't the only toes this boy has trampled on. Burnside wants him thrown from the city."

Moor sucked in his breath, shaking his head. "Yeah no. I don't think that's good enough, do you?"

Havel frowned, rubbing at a flaking nose with one gloved hand. "What did you have in mind? I don't want any undue attention falling on us."

"No. But at the same time better if this Nex ends up in the Stockades, or preferably dead. I don't like competition." Moor rapped his knuckles against Taggart's unresponsive head. "This idiot know how powerful our friend Nex is?"

Another pause. "It doesn't seem he does."

"Well then, you can release him." Havel looked at him with surprise, but Moor just waved at him impatiently. A moment later Taggart started, pushing away from the bar with a confused oath. He sagged back down when Moor shoved a mug of ale under his nose. "I think I recognize you from around," the barkeep said amiably. "Corporal...Taggart, was it?"

"Aye," Taggart said warily, taking a gulp of ale and glaring suspiciously at Havel.

"Well, Taggart, if you're here about that fellow Nex who just came by we can assure you he has no part of us." Moor winked. "Particularly, he's not under our protection."

"That right?" The guardsman took another gulp of ale. "Good ale," he said approvingly.

"It is, isn't it?" Moor sighed. "You wouldn't believe it, but that boy came within an inch of starting a brawl right in this bar. He's a powder keg waiting to explode, that one. And gnomes with arclight spanners are dancing around the keg, if you catch my drift."

"Maybe I do," Taggart said thoughtfully. "What did he want here?"

Moor shrugged. "We don't know. We don't care. The second he started getting belligerent we sent him on his way."

"I see." Taggart finished off his ale and stood. "Well then, thank you for the ale, and your time. Uphold the law and I won't see a need to come back here."

Moor watched the guardsman leave the inn, shaking his head. "Remember when the lesser people actually feared us enough to pretend they didn't despise us?"

Havel ignored the comment. "What was that all about?" he demanded. "What in hell and the lower planes is your little chat with the guardsman going to do for us?"

Moor smiled. "You spend all your time rooting around in people's minds, corpse. The only manipulation you know how to manage is of a magical nature." Havel said nothing but glared even harder, insulted and angry he couldn't see what Moor apparently thought was so obvious. Moor's smile widened. "That guardsman picked up two important pieces of information from our conversation: one, that Nex isn't connected to us, and that I was pretty much giving him permission to do as he liked with the boy; and two, that Nex is a violent troublemaker just looking for an excuse to start a fight. For a guard looking to kick someone from the city it's a dream come true."

"I still fail to see how any of that helps us."

"Do you?" Moor began cleaning out the two mugs on the bar. "What I failed to tell our guardsman is just how dangerous Nex is. So the man is going to go out and try to get Nex to instigate a brawl. Probably hire a few thugs to go and get in his face. And since I can't see Nex holding back even if common sense dictates it, our good friend is going to have some corpses on his hands. Best case, he gets thrown in the Stockades or killed by guards trying to break up the fighting. Worst case, he's found not guilty but still thrown from the city for the part he played."

"Ah." Havel laughed a bone-chilling laugh. Moor couldn't help but be a bit jealous; undead made sinister look so _easy_. "I'm sure we can take steps to see he dies in the brawl."

"You yourself said you don't want any undue attention falling on us." Moor tucked the glasses back under the bar, leaving it looking as if the two visitors had never been there. That would be the official story they gave to anyone who came snooping around. "Let's let events play out and see where it goes. If worse comes to worst, we can always take further steps to deal with the boy."

. . . . .

"Pardon me." The priest looked up politely from his rest on one of the benches surrounding the fountain statue of Alonsus Faol. Taggart touched two fingers to his helmet in respect. "I'm looking for a man, pale and skeletal looking, wearing fine clothes and coming from the Park or Mage District."

The priest shook his head in a kindly manner. "I've seen many beggars come into Cathedral Square, my son. None of them dressed finely, and most burned by the sun for having no roof over their heads."

Taggart cursed under his breath. "Please keep an eye open; the man is a troublemaker, and might be dangerous."

"Anything the Church can do to help Stormwind. I'll alert my brothers."

With another terse salute Taggart turned and rushed towards the Trade District, pausing along the way to question a few guards and vendors, and even going into some of the larger businesses to see if the boy had gone into any of them. Everyone he asked said the same thing, that they had seen no sign of any well-dressed beggar.

Damnit. Either he had gone the wrong way or everyone was blind. He'd done his share of tracking suspicious sorts through the city, and had generally had good success. How hard was it to get information on the whereabouts of a man who looked like a walking corpse, anyway?

He made his way to the Trade District, starting at the businesses near the Mage Quarter and working through towards the businesses along the main avenue, growing ever more annoyed. What sort of nonsense was this? He could describe the Nex's appearance and clothes in great detail, But no one had seen a glimpse of any such man. Finally in desperation he made his way back to the canals. Warehouses and cheap tenements lined the narrow streets beside the expansive waterway. The streets were wide enough for wagons, but most of the traffic was carried by reeking barges and the like; though it hadn't been the intent of the planners that the canals should become a sewer system for the city, an explosion in Stormwind's population had overwhelmed the aqueducts and sewer ducts, and the once-clear water was brown, and stank.

There was no report of Nex in this area, either. Taggart slumped down on a box of shipped goods and fell into thought. He'd formed a near complete circle of all the areas the boy could have been in, but there was a gap in that circle. The mage tower. It was possible Nex had made his way there on some business, although Taggart couldn't possibly see what business would take a man to speak with two groups of bitter rivals.

Still. He sighed wearily and pushed to his feet, turning back towards the Mage Quarter. It was at that moment he heard a call behind him.

The speaker was Jett, stableboy at the Pig and Whistle Tavern. "About time I finally found you," the boy said the moment he was close enough. He leaned over, panting. "Billy tole me t' find you and tell you that man you sent around fer us to watch were in our tavern, just sitting and drinking. He been buying drinks fer all the new patrons, looking fer information. Aye, and he were drinking plenty, too!"

Taggart smiled broadly, unable to believe his luck. No sooner should the idea occur to him, to have his problem solved by getting the boy kicked out of the city for instigating a brawl, than he finds out that boy is in a tavern drinking? And not just any tavern, but one where he could control the situation. He clapped Jett on the shoulder and tossed a few copper at him. "Good lad," he said. Then he was rushing towards Old Town. The sun was setting, which only made the timing more perfect; the bar would be full, and a few men would already be drunk.

Rather than going straight to the tavern he made his way through some back alleys into an open area between some of the worst buildings in Old Town, a place that was affectionately called the Court of Knaves. Along one wall a seedy stall had been set up, where a poison vendor kept a close eye over his wares. Nearby a dice game was going, and in the center of the area a crude partition had been set up for a cockfight, and ragged men were crowded around it taking wagers. They weren't the only activities going on, or even by any means the worst; the Court of Knaves was a place where people engaged in illegal activities, or activities which were technically legal but still tried to avoid the notice of guards. As he entered the area he heard a low whistle from the rooftops, and a few people slipped down other alleys and disappeared.

Taggart ignored them, as he ignored the cockfight and the women of dubious virtue offering their services. He made his way over to the dice game, where three veterans of the battle for Mount Hyjal were making small wagers and tossing the bones in a desultory fashion. Their leader, Lenny McCoy, looked up as Taggart loomed over them. McCoy was called Fingers by most people, and few let him brush against them without making an issue of it. The man was an accomplished pickpocket, but he was unfortunately in a profession where having a reputation was a bad thing. He could barely leave Old Town without every guard in the city paying him close and personal attention, and he was only one more arrest away from the Stockades.

Fingers knew all that, which was why Taggart wasn't surprised when the man spit on his boot. "Whatta ya want, stompy?"

Taggart went into a crouch beside the three. "How would you all like to make some money, get some free ale, and beat on a vagrant? All with my guarantee that the guards won't trouble you for it."

Five minutes later he had his three accomplices outside the tavern. "Remember," he told Fingers. "Wait until he's good and drunk, then go and get him angry. Make sure he throws the first punch, but after that you're free to do with him what you will."

"How free?" one of Fingers's buddies said.

"Don't kill him. Other than that have fun." Taggart fished a silver out of his pocket and shoved it at them. "Drink off that, and after the job's done you'll have another." It was a blow, parting with that, but he'd be sure Burnside reimbursed him. "Go on in. I'll wait a bit so it doesn't look like we're together. And remember, you don't know me."

. . . . .

Nex nodded patiently as the old fool leaning against the bar told his long, convoluted, and above all uninteresting tale. Before coming to Stormwind he would never have guessed that so many people had a story to tell, or just how little he cared to hear those stories.

He broke in politely at the first opening he'd had in several minutes. "What an amazing tale of bravery against a savage foe," he said, trying to be sincere. Sincerity might have fled an hour, ten stories, and six ales ago. But if the man detected anything he was at least smart enough to not look affronted; that was Nex's ale he was sipping from. "And to think, all that trouble with the orcs started because fools in the thrall of demons meddled in things they didn't understand."

The old man hawked a couple times in a disgusting way, then spat and took another swig of ale. "Aye, and the foolishness hasn't stopped," he leaned forward conspiratorially. "Did ye know there be _warlocks_ in our own fair city?"

Nex assumed a look of outrage, one he didn't have to work at too hard. "Unthinkable! Why haven't the guards rousted them out?"

The old man winked. "Ah, but they'd like to. Ask any guard here whether he wouldn't come down on the Slaughtered Lamb like a lightning bolt at the slightest peep from those shadow-wielding bastards."

"Is that so?" In fact Nex already _had_ asked most of the guards here, and most had expressed just such a desire. The old man likely didn't know any more, but it never hurt to ask. "So what's stopping them, if I may ask?"

"The King, Light bless his soul. He's taken it into his head that no citizen of Stormwind may be harassed or expelled unless he's committed a crime worthy of it. And even then they're usually fairly lenient. All well and good that people can go about their lives without being pushed around by guards, but it means ye get the worst sorts coming into the city, and being allowed to stay until they perform their villainy. It's policies like them what have the Stockades full to overflowing with human scum."

Nex nodded absently, thumped the table a few times in farewell, and stood. A trio of more beggarly sorts had just entered the tavern. They might have more information for him. He made his way over to the bar and was getting Billy the barkeep's attention so he could by them ale when a gauntleted hand thumped his shoulder, making him jump and whirl around.

Taggart grinned at him. "Found your way here at last, did you?" he said amiably. "Hope you've had a chance to get some grub and enjoy some ale."

"Plenty of both," Nex replied. He was glad Taggart was finally here, since an officer in the guard would have information others didn't have. He turned to the bar and said "two ales, one for me and one for my friend." To his surprise, Taggart said just about the same thing.

Billy blinked at them slowly. "Four ales, were it?"

Nex was about to say no when Taggart laughed and thumped the bar. "Why not?" he shouted. "Let's enjoy life while we're still young enough."

Nex shrugged and settled down on the bar stool. He half missed it, and had to catch the bar to pull himself into his seat. Odd, he usually wasn't so clumsy. Billy thumped two ales down and began filling two more. Taggart picked his up. "Chug one, nurse the other, and we'll see where we go from there!" Suiting his own words he lifted the mug and practically upended it over his mouth, throat gulping frantically but still catching less than half of it before it spilled over his tabard and the bar.

Nex picked his up and drank slightly more neatly, getting most of it into his mouth. A trickle ran down his chin, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. His head was feeling light, and he was in an oddly good mood. "Why not chug both?" he asked, and picked up the second, gulping it down.

Taggart gaped at him in surprise, then laughed and picked up his second mug. "I like the way you think, boy!" He put the mug to his lips and set to quaffing.

"Two more," Nex said, slamming his mug down. Then he turned, the world spinning merrily around him, and set to questioning Taggart.

The guard was a canny negotiator, refusing to answer a question without supplying one of his own. Most of them were innocuous, and some had Nex and a few others who'd gathered around to join the merriment laughing uproariously. Nex didn't think he'd gotten much out of the conversation, but four ales in from when Taggart had sat down he realized he didn't much care. Then Taggart pushed aside their assembled mugs and motioned Billy to put a small bottle on the table. "Darkshire brandy," the guard said with a slightly slack grin. "Triple distilled. This party's just getting started."

Somewhere around halfway through the bottle, having drunk a dozen ales and most of the brandy between the two of them, Nex blacked out.

. . . . .

Which was not to say he passed out. He'd entered that narrow window of drunkenness between completely smashed and lying in a puddle of his own vomit, where he was still walking and talking, or perhaps more accurately staggering and trying to talk around a tongue that felt big as a pillow. But, in the morning, he wouldn't remember anything past the point of blackout. It was like something else had control of him. And for Nex, that something else was his inner demons.

"'S not thaddaye like demons," he was saying to a group of fellow revelers who were rapidly becoming less and less friendly. "'S not tha' addall. 'Slike, isslike more like, y'know, they don't surprise you. Y'know they juss, jusssset wanna kill you. You allus know wha' your gettining into with demons. Bu' with humans, righ'? They su-surprise you sumtimmes. Y' nev...nev...neverno whether they're going t', whassit, hug you, or jus' beat you for five hours witta whip." He smiled triumphantly. "'N _thas_ wha' I mean whennaye say tha' sumtimmes I, y'know, likka demon more'n a human. Demons you jus' kill, but hum...humanans you have to _live_ with."

Taggart pushed away from the bar while the boy was distracted and walked over to Fingers and his buddies, sitting a short distance away. "I have a feeling now's the perfect time. Go get in his face about the demon shit he's talking, get him to take a swing, then beat the shit out of him with half the inn cheering on.

Fingers slowly lifted his ale to his lips. "No," he said flatly.

Taggart blinked. "No?"

"No. We don't want to fight with him anymore." The pickpocket tossed the few coppers that remained of Taggart's silver onto the table. "I'll find a way to repay you the rest."

Taggart looked between the three men. Their faces were pale with rage, and one of them was fingering the dagger. They certainly looked as if they still wanted to fight.

A shout spun him around, and Taggart turned to see Jonas Miller, one of the palace guards, pick Nex up by the neck and slam him against the bar. "I'm going to kill you, demon loving freak!" the guardsman snarled. No one at the bar was making a move to stop the man, either. Not to help someone saying he preferred the company of demons in a bar full of Third War veterans.

Shit.

Taggart rushed forward and bodily pulled Miller away before the fool could ruin his plans. It took one or two tries; he'd been careful to not consume as much as Nex, and he had to outweigh the boy by at least double, but he was still tipsy. Nex, on the other hand, was staring blearily up at the palace guard, barely comprehending what was going on. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" Taggart demanded once he had Miller off the boy.

Miller was still fighting to get to him, and it was all Taggart could do to hold him back. "If it weren't for demons the Scourge would never have come to exist, and Lordaeron would still be intact," the man snarled. He tried to throw a punch, which Taggart mostly managed to duck. "My wife's family hailed from Darrowshire. And here this freak is saying he prefers demons over his own kind!"

"Do you think I don't know that?" Taggart snarled, rubbing his jaw with one hand while he leaned into the drunken guardsman. "What do you think I'm..." He cut off abruptly, realizing it wasn't a good idea to give away his plan with Nex not five feet away.

Nex. He spun to the bar to see what had become of the boy, and Nex wasn't there. A quick, frantic inspection of the tavern's common room showed that he had disappeared. Damnit.

When he turned back to Miller, it was directly into a right hook with the palace guard's full weight behind it. Stars flashed in front of his eyes and his vision went dark for a moment. Pain lanced up his side as he smashed into a chair's back on his way down, and then blossomed from his nose when he struck the seedy wooden floor face-first. For a moment all he could do was lay there, putting all his concentration into pushing the pain down.

"There's one for you being the friend of a demon lover," Miller said coldly. "I'll give you another if you try to get up."

Taggart rolled onto his back and struggled to get an elbow under him. The room was spinning even worse than before, and the pain in his head made him want to vomit. "Idiot!" he snarled. "You think I brought the boy in here and got him dead drunk because I enjoyed his company? I was trying to goad him into starting a brawl so I could kick him out of the city!"

Miller, one steel-toed boot drawn back in preparation for a vicious kick, paused. "What?"

"I hired Fingers and his buddies to start the brawl and beat the shit out of the demon lover. We could have had all the satisfaction without drawing the guard into it and risking our jobs!"

"What, you mean Fingers McCoy?" Billy behind the bar asked.

"Aye." Taggart whirled to where the three had been sitting. "Fingers, tell them what-" He cut off abruptly. Fingers and his gang were gone.

"Tell us what?" Miller said with a sneer. "Fingers isn't around, is he?"

Taggart thought back to the expressions he'd seen on the three ruffians' faces. "Damnit," he whispered.

No, they didn't want to fight Nex. After hearing his little drunken speech they wanted to kill him.

. . . . .

Nex stumbled out into the canals area between Trade District and Old Town, not sure where he was, where he was going, or whether it mattered. He had a vague recollection of angry shouting and wanting to get away from it, but his more immediate concern was a painfully full bladder. It wasn't often he experienced the sensation.

Going by some instinct for decency he lurched into an alleyway between two decrepit warehouses, made his way behind a pile of garbage, and let loose a stream with a sigh of relief. He was immediately focused on the task, but there was room for a vague notion of finding the bar again when he was finished and getting another drink.

The attack came suddenly, from the side. Nex had no more hint than the slightest whisper of movement, and then searing pain erupted in the back of his head. The next he knew he was on the ground, face-first in his own urine.

With a low groan he tried to roll over, and something solid hit him square in the gut. His cry of pain was muffled as he threw up everything he'd consumed in the last day. It took a while.

When he was done he looked up blearily at the three figures standing over him. "Wha?" he mumbled.

"Warlock scum," the man who'd attacked him said in a low voice. He carried a board in his hands. "It's not often you leave your little sanctuary, but we're not complaining. This isn't going to be fast, and it isn't going to be pleasant, but at the end of it there'll be one less demon worshiper plaguing Stormwind." He stepped forward and kicked out at Nex's head, the blow landing with a sickening _crunch_. His two companions came up beside him and joined him in raining blows down on the helpless man.

The leader of his assailants kicked him over onto his back. "Hold him," he ordered his companions tersely. Then he drew a slender, wicked knife from his boot. "Let's take out the monster's eyes first, eh?" His two companions leapt forward to grab Nex's shoulders and drag him up against the wall, pinning his arms. Nex watched as the knife drew slowly closer.

Vomiting much of the alcohol he'd consumed, combined with the realization that he was about to be blinding, was having a wonderfully sobering effect. Nex stared at the enemy looming over him with fixed concentration, and a moment later the knife bounced off an invisible shield. The men holding him gasped in surprise and fear, then screamed as Nex's eyes began glowing a sullen red. His hair, too, began to glow, like embers hidden under a thick layer of ash, and the skin beneath their hands became rough, nearly scaly.

They sprang away with a cry of fear, even as their leader struck with the dagger again, then again, in growing desperation.

Nex stood slowly, pushing his way up the wall at his back. "Lets take out your leader first, eh?" he said quietly. Then he loosed his pent-up shadow power in a powerful blast against the knifeman's mind. The man screamed and reeled away, his knife dropping from nerveless fingers with a clang. He fell to his knees clutching at his face, and some of his face squeezed out between his fingers and dripped to the ground.

Nex leaned down, carefully, to pick up his enemy's knife. He wasn't exactly sober, and certainly not graceful. But he didn't need to be either against these oafs.

The two lackeys were staring at their leader in horror. In the red glow of Nex's eyes the man was dimly revealed, and as his hands fell away and they saw the ruin that was his face, one of the lackeys opened his mouth to scream.

Nex lifted his hand and loosed another burst of dark energy, which caught the man's tongue, silencing him. The other turned to run, but before he could Nex raised his other hand, and from it a stream of shadowy power lanced out and caught the runner full in the head. He managed two desperate steps against the devastating energies flaying at his mind, then he too collapsed.

The silenced man tried to flee, but he had barely escaped the alley before Nex's thrown knife ripped into the back of his head, killing him instantly.

Nex looked around quickly, searching out with his senses to see if anyone had seen the fight, if such it could be called. He sensed nothing, but at any moment the guards on their patrols could be coming.

He stepped back into the alleyway and found a cracked chamber pot and a few crumbling bricks within the pile of garbage. The bricks he shoved into the vest and breeches' pockets of the man who had died to his dagger. Then he rolled the man into the canal, careful not to make a splash. Even on the best of days he doubted the bottom could be seen through the filthy water, and he was certain no one ever had the intestinal fortitude to dredge the canal. Even if they did for their own, it was certain they would not do so for three nameless drifters.

He shoved the chamber pot onto the head of the second man he had killed, twisting it slightly so it would stay attached. It was barely heavy enough to weigh the man down, and it was several moments before he passed beneath the water.

Finally he turned to the leader. The skin of his face looked like candle wax that had partially melted off his skull. In any sort of good light it was sure to be a stomach wrenching sight. Nex paused for a moment, considering, then smiled viciously and dragged the man into the alley, where he quickly buried him under a pile of refuse.

Eventually the smell of the body would overpower even that of the filth in the alley, and someone would come to investigate. Then they would see what could only be the work of warlocks, and yet another wedge would be driven between the citizens of Stormwind and the traitorous warlocks and demonologists who summoned demons into Azeroth rather than seeking to destroy them.

Anything he could do to make the lives of the warlocks harder.

. . . . .

Taggart ran through the streets, followed by a handful of off-duty guardsmen from the Pig and Whistle. More were out combing other streets and beyond the new gate that led to the gnomes' crazy underground invention.

His fellows could be trusted not to say anything about his attempt to instigate a brawl. They didn't like Nex, and if the human scum Fingers had brought had done their job they wouldn't have shown the slightest reluctance in letting things play out Taggart's way.

On the other hand, if anyone turned up dead for this he wasn't sure even being in the city guard would protect him from the consequences. And if Taggart didn't like the boy much, and less after hearing his opinions on demons, he certainly didn't want to see him dead.

They were close to the gate that led out of Old Town and into the canals. Taggart shouted for a few of his fellows to keep on searching down the street and turned off into the canals. He sent a few more men right when they reached the narrow canal street while he turned left.

It had taken a while to sort things out at the bar, and Nex and Fingers had a bit of a lead on him. They could have gone a fair distance, but one advantage at least was that if they'd been running or openly fighting in the streets someone would have noticed. Seeing the guards out in force searching generally prompted civic-minded citizens to come forth and-

Taggart skidded to a stop by an alleyway, coming back to it. The moon was a dim crescent in the sky, the stars obscured by clouds, but there'd been enough light to reflect off a puddle on the cobblestones. Taggart knelt and examined it closely. It smelled like blood, and was darker than even dirty water would be in this light.

"Here!" he shouted. He ran into the alleyway, which was so deep in shadows he could barely make out a mound of rubbish further in. He made his way carefully along it as booted feet rushed to the mouth of the alley. "Fetch a torch," he ordered tersely. He could smell urine, and vomit, and a weird sickly smell like meat in the early stages of rot. With a grimace of distaste he began rummaging through the rubbish, searching. His fingers caught on cloth, and warm flesh beneath, and he gave a grunt and yanked.

A few moments later one of the guards arrived with a torch, lighting the body he'd just uncovered. The guardsman bearing the torch screamed, and he heard another man, or perhaps the same one, retching. The face was unrecognizable, to the extent that Taggart was afraid he'd have nightmares about it, but the clothes were easy enough to identify.

The corpse he'd uncovered had been, just minutes before, Lenny "Fingers" McCoy.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

The Hard Way

Puros looked down with horror at the nightmare before him. It had been human, dressed in ragged clothes and somewhat scrawny. But where the face should be was...nothing. Ripples of flesh like candle wax pooled on a table, with no discernible eyes, nose, or mouth. As if his face had simply been melted away.

"What is this?" he asked uneasily. "From whence did it come?"

The corporal of the city watch who had overseen the body's delivery to the cathedral shifted uneasily. "From the canals, Lord Puros."

"_What?_" Puros whirled away, gratefully tearing his eyes away from the gruesome scene. "This monstrosity happened within Stormwind?"

The guardsman met his outrage stoically. "In area of the canals just west of Old Town. His name was Fingers McCoy, a common footpad. He was known to consort with two companions, and was with them just before this event occurred. We believe they were dumped in the canal, and are currently dredging it." The man made a disgusted face. "Not enthusiastically, I might add."

Puros looked back at the ruined man, shock and anger warring with sadness. A common footpad, was he? Whatever his crimes, no man deserved to die this way. _And in his own city!_ "What is your name, guardsman?"

The man saluted. "Corporal Taggart, sir. Currently on street patrol through the Mage Quarter, the Park, Cathedral Square, and the western portion of the Trade District."

Archbishop Benedictus cleared his throat mildly. He had been standing back, allowing Puros to inspect the body, but now he came forward. "Begging your pardon, corporal, but if the body was found outside of your patrol why are you overseeing the investigation?"

Taggart's face tightened with shame and anger. "I was drinking at the guards' tavern in Old Town," he said quietly. "The people involved in this sad scene were all drinking there as well."

Puros blinked in surprise. "Are you saying you think you know who did this?"

"I _do _know who did this," Taggart assured them. "He came into the city not long ago. It's obvious he wields dark magics for he murdered this man in cold blood."

Puros watched the guard closely as he spoke. There was more to this story, he knew; the corporal practically stank of deception. "You are certain it is this man?" he asked in a hard voice.

Taggart flinched away from meeting his gaze. "I am sure."

"Then what aren't you telling us?"

The guardsman finally met his eye, face set in determination. "I know the man who did this. I would stake my life on it. But there were no witnesses to the crime. The man came under attack by a guardsman and fled the tavern, and was later followed by McCoy and his two cronies. Not long after McCoy's body was found."

"If you know who did this then why are you not out searching for him?" Benedictus said in that same mild tone.

"We are, your Holiness. And I assure you we will catch him. But in the meantime I came to the cathedral to deliver the body into the Church's hands, and also to ask for your support in an outstanding petition to have this murdering wretch removed from Stormwind."

"Removed?" Puros demanded. "He murdered this man!"

"As I am sure, but which unfortunately I cannot at this time prove. In the meantime, Master Burnside of the Stormwind City Bank has demanded that he be removed, and his petition is supported by the barkeep of the Slaughtered Lamb."

"Both the warlocks _and_ the bank want him gone? Just who is he?"

Taggart looked away, and Puros again had a sense the man was hiding something. "His name is Nex Aran."

. . . . .

"I'm very troubled by this," Puros admitted. "After encountering this Nex character I made all haste back to Stormwind to report. And despite delays, I made good time. That I should arrive in the city and not long after learn that he is also here is beyond worrisome. I offered to let him travel with me, and he spurned the offer with contempt. He did not seem to desire human company. Why he should have rushed to Stormwind is a mystery to me, but I can see few honest reasons for it. Fewer, if he did indeed slay this man Fingers McCoy."

"You think he may have come in pursuit of you?" Benedictus asked gravely.

"I'm not sure."

Taggart scowled and rested a hand on his sword hilt. "If this scoundrel entered the city thinking to assassinate a paladin of the Church, he'll find himself deeply regretting it. Give me the Church's endorsement, and I'll see the vagabond thrown from the city and his name and description given to all the guards."

Benedictus looked to Puros, but Puros was too deep in troubled contemplation to answer the unspoken question. The Archbishop answered in his stead. "Again you suggest throwing him from the city, despite the fact that he's suspect in a murder and is a possible threat to the Church of Light. What are your reasons?"

The guardsman drew himself up. "My reasons are what they should be. I wish this foul sorcerer gone for the safety of Stormwind. If he is gone, and barred reentry with all the guards possessing his description, whatever infamy he has planned will not be carried out.

The Archbishop shook his head. "If this Nex character has some nefarious purpose within the city it might be best to keep close watch on him and find out just what he intends. If we simply expel him from the city there'll be no knowing what he plans or why he was here, and he might find another means to work his mischief."

"No," Puros said firmly, finally coming back to himself. "I'll not let Stormwind be endangered by this man, whatever his purpose. If we try to watch him and he knows we're keeping tabs he may find some way to achieve his goal anyway. But if he is out of the city with no means of entering then he cannot succeed. Recall that the lad is surprisingly powerful, and not to be taken lightly." Puros hesitated. "Still, Corporal Taggart, before you escort him from the city perhaps I should speak to him and try to divine his purpose."

Benedictus frowned and held up a hand firmly. "Absolutely not. You yourself said the most likely reason for him to be in the city was in pursuit of you, and likely for some malign purpose. I don't want you going anywhere near him." The Archbishop turned to the guardsman. "Corporal, you have the Church's endorsement in this matter. We support you in naming Nex Aran a suspicious character and throwing him from the city. Take that endorsement to your commander and see that the right thing is done."

"As the Church commands," Taggart said, kneeling before the Archbishop to kiss his ring and mouth the holy platitudes in a way Puros couldn't help but judge as borderline sanctimonious.

When he was gone Puros sighed and turned to the Archbishop. "I can't help but wonder if we're doing this Nex a wrong. For all my suspicions of him he did save my life, and refrained from attacking me when I was weak. That man Taggart is hiding something, I'm sure of it, and he himself admitted there was no proof against Nex. What if the lad was protecting himself from a failed mugging or some other mischief?"

"Perhaps his motives for being here are pure, in spite of all evidence to the contrary. But I will not take that risk, my son." Benedictus sounded weary. "I gladly trust nothing which comes out of the Plaguelands, and I agree that expelling him from the city was the wisest course."

Puros nodded and took his leave, still troubled. Was it truly? Perhaps the Archbishop had been correct to suggest that tabs be kept on the boy.

Oh well, it was too late now.

. . . . .

Nex wished he was dead.

Of course there was little new about that. That sort of thing tended to be a matter of course for him. But there was a difference between feeling fairly normal and healthy and longing for oblivion in a more abstract way, and huddling behind a pile of sewage with a splitting headache dry heaving time and again and viewing even painful death as a welcome relief.

"Ere looky there! It's a nob puking his guts out in a pile of shit!"

Nex looked up at the ragged boy standing a stone's throw away, pointing at him. Coincidentally, the kid had a stone in his hand, and he looked ready to throw it. At him.

Normally Nex was fascinated by children. They represented a sort of amoral selfishness bundled up with a wide-eyed innocence that together created a creature generally accepted to be the epitome of good. The boy threw his stone, and Nex jerked his head away at the last moment. The rock bounced a couple of times and disappeared into the sewage pile.

Nex struggled to his feet. It was surprisingly difficult. "Piss off," he snarled at the boy, and at the boy's friends who were starting to gather. The boy stooped for another stone, and Nex pulled out his heavy belt knife and waved it menacingly. "Your stone against my knife, boy. Who do you think is the better throw?"

The kids scattered like roaches when a lamp is lit. Nex grinned after them and put his knife away. He'd run into packs of children like those, and in his experience the only way to keep them from following after throwing rocks and jibes, and fleeing to the nearest adult should he try to stop them, was to openly threaten bodily harm.

It wasn't exactly a _serious_ threat.

Not moments later a handful of guards rushed around the corner, holding pikes and crossbows. Upon sight of him the pikes went down and the crossbows came up. "Throw aside your weapons!" the guardsman at the head of the group shouted.

Nex raised his hands slowly. "It was just a joke!" he called back.

The men looked at each other incredulously. "You call murdering a man a joke?" the spokesman demanded.

Nex stopped dead. Murder? What in the hell were they talking about? The last he remembered was taking a shot of something as vile as it was strong with... "Taggart," he said calmly. "I was in the company of a corporal of the guards last night. He will vouch for me."

A couple of the guards sniggered. "Will he?" the spokesman said with a vicious smile. "He's the one that's accusing you, warlock. Throw aside your weapons!"

. . . . .

This was the first time Nex had seen the entrance to Stormwind, and it was impressively grand. Too bad he was being led through it as a prelude to permanent expulsion from the city. The statues of all the previous heroes of the Alliance were nice, though. It was good to commemorate those whose lives were worth living.

The statues were lined up along a slender bridge arching over the moat, fed by the canals. They led to the front walls and gates of Stormwind. Behind him there were two more gates you had to go through before entering the city proper. And at each gate _and_ lined along the bridge stood pockets of guards. He was glad he'd come into Stormwind through the back way.

Aside from him and his escort of a dozen guards, nobody else seemed to be leaving the city. There was, however, a constant stream of traffic entering the city: wagons, handcarts, men on horseback, ragged families afoot with their possessions bundled on their backs. And even the lowliest of them shot him distrustful looks as he passed.

Taggart met up with him at the last gate he had to pass through before he was officially, and permanently, out of the city. "Glad to see you've finally shown up, boy," the guard said cheerfully. "We've been looking all over for you.

"What the hell is this, Taggart?"

The man's expression turned cold. "You slew a citizen of Stormwind in cold blood last night. Other citizens, _p__rominent_ citizens of Stormwind, have demanded you be barred from ever entering the city again. And you should be glad they're being merciful; had we any proof of your nefarious deed you would be in the Stockades right now, not leaving our city free and unharmed."

"Who?" Nex demanded. "What prominent citizens do I know who would wish me gone?"

Taggart smiled viciously. "The banker, Burnside; the tavernkeeper, Moor; the Archbishop of the Church of Light, Benedictus; a paladin of the order of Turalyon, Puros; and of course there's me."

Nex stared at him in shock. Five people. Practically everyone he'd met in the city. And Puros? If he recalled that was the paladin whose life he'd saved in the Plaguelands. There was gratitude. "Seems like an extensive list. I'm surprised you didn't include Topper McNabb on it."

The corporal laughed harshly. "I said _prominent_ citizens, warlock scum. But just so you don't feel like you've got any friends in the city, you should know it was old McNabb who put me on your trail." Taggart's smile faded. "But enough gloating. Nex Aran, you are henceforth banned from Stormwind. Should you seek to return, openly or in secret, the city guards have orders to slay you on sight. Furthermore you are required to be out of sight of the city walls by nightfall, and out of the region of Elwynn Forest by the day after tomorrow. If you fail to do so then, again, you will be slain on sight."

Nex smiled bitterly. "I suppose that means I won't get my weapons back." Taggart returned the smile with one of confused disbelief. "Ah Taggart, I thought we were friends."

The man's face turned ugly. Nex thought he saw a hint of guilt there. "I don't make friends with murderers."

"No, you just get them dead drunk and set them loose in the streets, apparently. Although truth be told I don't remember ever leaving the tavern. My last memory was of a shared toast with you. To the unsung heroes of the Third War, I believe."

Taggart spat. "You have ten seconds to get out of my sight. Don't let me see you again."

Nex drew back his lips, exposing his unnaturally long canines. "Oh no, Corporal. You won't _see_ me again."

Taggart didn't flinch. "One."

Nex turned and broke into a trot down the wide boulevard that led between Stormwind and Goldshire. Goldshire he _had_ been to, once, but he didn't plan on going back there. As soon as he was out of the gates, and out of earshot of Taggart's deliberate counting, he veered east towards the hills above Stormwind. He had a whip to retrieve. And a final visit to the fledgling Dwarven District to make.

. . . . .

"I've come for my order, dwarf."

Forgebender looked up in surprise from the grindstone, where he was seeing to the surprisingly delicate task of sharpening one of the small, double-pointed knives Nex had ordered. "Yer order, boy? But it's nae been e'en two days yet."

"I'll have to take what you have, and get payment refunded for the rest. My time in Stormwind has, alas, run out."

The dwarf scowled. "When I get a contract I dinnae break it. And I dinnae expect my patrons tae brake it either."

"I'm to be out of sight of the city walls by sundown. A contract has to be able to change based on the needs of one party or the other. I'll agree to you keeping one Anduin extra from the refund."

Forgebender looked at him narrowly. "Kicked from the city, were ye?"

"A drunken brawl, unfortunately."

The dwarf brightened. "Oh ho! Now that's a tale I kin get into." He rubbed his full beard thoughtfully. "Well then, I cannae give you your whole order. I havenae even started on yer long pointy stabbers. But then, I just may have something else." He reached down under the table, and Nex heard some faint clangs as he rummaged about. Then he gave a shout of triumph and withdrew...

A metal bar.

It was about a foot long, widest in the middle and tapering gradually down to wicked points at either end. Forgebender hefted it in his hand easily, then tossed it spinning into the air and caught it. "Two pounds o' thrice-forged steel, w' reinforced thorium for the tips."

"So I see. But what the hell is it?"

Forgebender chuckled. "Tis a throwing weapon. I named it a torpedo, after them underwater bombs the gnomes use. Same shape, y'know?"

Nex stared at the thing in stark disbelief. A torpedo. It was far too short to throw like a javelin; almost certainly it would spin mid-flight. "How do you throw it?"

Forgebender whirled and in a smooth motion threw it end-over-end, like a throwing knife. It flew through the air and hit a log with a high-pitched _clang_, bouncing back almost ten feet.

"Fine demonstration," Nex said, trying not to smirk._ "_I can't see it hitting point-first very often."

The dwarf scowled as he stalked over and retrieved it. "Ye'd be surprised. On a soft target the spin'll cause just about any hit but a flat one tae dig the point in." He smiled. "But what matters is that e'en if it doesnae hit point-first, it's heavy enough that it'll shatter bones, crush plate armor, all sorts o' carnage. And if it does bite in..." He whirled and flung it at the log again, but this time instead of bouncing away it dug in with barely a whisper of sound. Nex ambled over and grabbed the torpedo, tugging on it half-heartedly. Then he grunted in surprise when it didn't move. It finally came free after he gave it a firm yank with a half-twist. From the hole, it looked as if it had gone in nearly two inches.

Two inches, into solid oak.

Forgebender beamed. "Y'see? Go clean through a person if thrown right, and punch through good plate like paper. Any fight where a knife'd be too little, this thing'll do yer job."

Nex tossed it thoughtfully, catching it after three spins. It felt solid in his hand, a good heavy feeling. If it could dig into oak like that most demon skin would be no barrier. And he had a momentary but satisfying image of it tearing through Taggart's head. "How many do you have?"

"Five, same number as them skinny knives ye wanted. Tha's what made me think o' them."

"Even trade then? These five torpedoes in place of my unmade knives?"

Forgebender hesitated. "Well, I didnae have a buyer for the torpedoes. Some man down from the far south, Stranglethorn or somesuch, twas looking tae have 'em made, but he buggered off before I could finish 'em. Already been paid for all five, but the thorium didnae come cheap, and-"

Nex shut off the flow of words by tossing the dwarf an Anduin. "Will this cover it?"

Five minutes later he was deep in Elwynn Forest, barely within sight of Stormwind's walls, with the weight of his new weapons resting in his pack. He'd have to sew loops in his cloak and coat for the smaller knives, while how to store the torpedoes for easy access was something he was still trying to figure out. The heavy throwing knives were resting comfortably in their places on his belt, making it bristle dangerously all the way around. He'd be much more comfortable once he'd enchanted all of them, of course, but for the moment it was nice to be armed again. Truth be told, he'd never been this heavily armed.

He hadn't given up on the tome just yet, of course. But he figured it would be better to wait a week or two until the guards had forgotten his face before he tried slipping into the city again. Until then he needed something to occupy his time, and fortunately he had weapons to enchant, and a new weapon to learn how to throw accurately.

Forgebender's little sales pitch may have been enthusiastic, but after about an hour's worth of testing Nex concluded it wasn't exactly exaggerated, either. His accuracy with the torpedo was good, hitting his target just about every time, but he still didn't have the spin timed to make it dig in every time. About 80% of the time it bounced away with that high-pitched _clang_. Still, even when it didn't dig in it tore the bark off trees and left deep marks. And when it did dig in it continued to amaze him with the sheer _force_ with which it struck.

He hurled one of the torpedoes at a squirrel running along a branch, twenty feet away. Not much of the animal remained afterwards, and the torpedo was buried soundly in the branch behind. He wondered what it would do to a demon after he enchanted it with demonslaying.

He was climbing the tree to retrieve his weapon when Illidan Stormrage appeared in the clearing beneath him.

. . . . .

Nex gave a strangled gasp of surprise and jerked backwards, hand closing on the torpedo just in time to keep him from falling. It had dug in enough to hold his weight for a moment, but by then he had recovered some of his calm, and when he fell he landed neatly, even adding the classy touch of falling to one knee in front of his new master at the end of his fall.

It turned out not to be an actual incarnation of Stormrage, but instead some sort of projected image, transparent and glowing faintly green. "You are not within the city, as I would have expected," the image said darkly. "And you do not seem to be focused on the task I gave you. Do you feel it is unimportant, or perhaps that I assigned you to it on a whim?"

Nex fought to hold back his anger. "Neither."

"Then where is the tome, human?"

"I am still in the process of recovering it." Nex turned towards the walls looming in the distance. "I've hit a little...snag...is all."

The transparent image glowed brighter for a moment. "A snag?" Stormrage said, his voice soft. "There is no more time for snags. The ceremony is about to begin, and my minions prepare to raise their home from the watery depths once more. But that will do us no good if we do not know which portion of the ruins to raise."

Nex laughed in disbelief. "I was forty-three days coming here from the Plaguelands, and you didn't see fit to so much as check in on me. And suddenly _now_ time is an issue?"

"Yes." Sudden pain washed over Nex, and he went to both knees with a cry. Something was tearing at his mind, at his soul, trying to steal away something precious from him. He fought at it desperately, summoning every mental defense, striking out wildly in every direction with his power. Stormrage's laughter came to him as if from far away. _Fool. Did you think your oath to me was mere show? Did I not warn you it would bind you deeper and more tightly than you could ever imagine?_

"I keep it still, master!" Nex cried.

_Then why are you outside the walls of Stormwind, playing with toys, when your objective lies within?_

"You said that I was more suited to this task than you, because I was human. But the guardsmen of Stormwind seem to feel otherwise. I've been banished from the city." The pain within him grew to a deeper and more primal level, and Nex knew he was dying.

Stormrage's image spoke this time. "I have no time for vassals who serve no purpose to me. If you think your excuses will save you from your fate you are wrong. Get me Aegwynn's journal, and do it by this time tomorrow, or I will slay you and find a servant who can."

The tearing reached a crescendo, and then the pain vanished completely. In its absence Nex felt as if something else had been taken from him as well. "W...what did you do?" he said, panting.

"Nothing much, for now. But let's just say that in twenty-four hours your doom will fall on you. Provided, of course, you cannot complete a simple task."

"I can." Nex pushed to his feet with an effort. "The humans refused to let me do it the easy way, which leaves only the hard way. But easy or hard, it will be done."

"Then do it," Stormrage's image said, and vanished.

. . . . .

Topper ambled cheerfully down the alleyway, whistling loudly and not a little off tune. Some days were good, and most days were bad, but today had been one of his best. He'd just enjoyed a good meal, his second in as many days, and more than one or two pints of ale to go with it. He still had enough coin to live another week or so in relative luxury, and he had a new (well, used) blanket for his box.

Between one step and the next he must have tripped, because he found himself flying face-first against the alley's wall. He hit it with a grunt and tried to push away and get his feet back under him. About this point he realized he must not have tripped after all because there was a weight against his back, pushing him into the wall. A moment later he felt a dauntingly sharp point tickle against the underside of his chin. A soft, terrifying voice spoke right next to his ear.

"Topper, Topper, Topper. Likes his ale filled to the top. All his problems the Alliance's fault. Acquaintance for a silver, friend for two. How _are_ you this evening, Topper?"

Topper swallowed, painfully aware of the sharp tip against his throat. "Ah, Nex?"

"Oh you remembered me after all, did you? I had a feeling you did. And did you decide to share any details about my doings with someone?"

There was something in that voice that made him sure that no matter how he answered that question he was dead. He shuddered, and felt his breeches soak as his bladder let go. "He were going to throw me in the Stockades!" he wailed. "I swear I din't tell him nothing he couldn't have heared from no one else on the streets!"

Something solid slammed into the back of his head, hard enough to make his face bounce off the wall in front of him. Stars danced in front of his eyes and he nearly passed out. "He being Corporal Taggart, Topper?"

"Aye," Topper said, nodding as much as he could. "Aye, and I swear that's all. He jes' wanted to know where you was headed next, and I mentioned you was interested in the warlocks 'n all."

"I see." The weight on his back abruptly vanished, as did the weapon at his throat. Before he could move, however, Nex caught his shoulder and spun him around, slamming him to the ground and leaning over him. "Well, if our good Taggart is so interested in me, it's only fair I be interested in him. Tell me his patrol route, specifically when he's closest to the northern part of the Mage Quarter. If you lie to me I'll cut out your tongue, and you can see how the begging goes when you have some deformity to claim."

Topper tended to be a perpetual pessimist, but he could still see the slightest possibility that he'd make his way out of this alive. "No lies, I swear."

"Good. I'll need you to do one more thing for me after that. But let's take things as they come."

. . . . .

Avelya had only been an apprentice for a year, but even so there was an important task she'd been putting off for far too long, concentrating on her studies. Certainly it was also important that she master the unstable arcane energy she was slowly gaining access to. And it helped that she know how to form the proper spellforms and matrices to control it without killing herself or everyone else.

But all of that paled in comparison with her need to find a suitable surname for her mage career.

"Brightblast?" she muttered, taking a bite of her late supper. "No, sounds more like something a paladin would claim. Firestorm? No, that's like, some sort of natural disaster or something." She frowned in thought. "Actually, maybe I'll put that in the "possible" list." She jotted the name down and took another bite. "Arcanophile? No, sounds like some sort of mechanical construct. Icewater? Gah, that's even worse! Sounds like you'd order me with a light snack." She threw her fork down and glared at the list in frustration.

"Netherbinder?" a voice behind her said. She jumped and whirled around to find a beggar grinning at her apologetically.

"What?" she said warily.

"Yer trying to think of a good name, right? How 'bout Netherbinder?"

Avelya blinked. "Well, that could work." She looked down at her pathetic list, then up at the beggar. "How long did it take you to come up with that name?"

The man grinned, revealing several gaps in his smile. "Weren't but a moment, ma'am. Names is easy, y'know?" He abruptly glanced towards the door and his smile vanished. "Um, yer wanted back at the mage tower."

Avelya froze with panic, then went into a flurry of activity gathering up her books and shoving her list into a folder. "Oh no! Archmage Urvel was supposed to tutor me tonight! Idiot idiot idiot!" She rushed out the door in a frantic sprint.

Topper, standing beside her recently vacated table with an entire excuse for why she was needed still hanging at the tip of his tongue, closed his mouth and glanced down. Hmm, free food.

He sat and began to eat, uncomfortably aware that Nex was right outside. If he didn't play his cards right the crazy kid might still end up cutting his throat, and he liked his throat just fine the way it was.

. . . . .

Nex waited in the shadows next to the tavern, wondering how long it would take the fool to lure the apprentice out.

He had to give Topper one thing: the man knew a surprising amount about a surprising number of people. It hadn't taken long to settle on this apprentice as a possible source of information.

He heard a door slam, and a rush of footsteps, and had only a moment to spare before a small slender shape flew past his hiding place. He darted out, caught her around the waist with one arm and covered her mouth with the other, and backed her into the alley in a moment's time. Under his hand she was trying to scream, and he could feel her gathering arcane energy for a defensive spell. He drained the energy out of her before she could finish it.

Magic users were generally resilient to magical attacks. They either prepared their own magical defenses or their knowledge of spells was broad enough that they knew how to counter enemies mid-cast. However, it helped a lot if you dispelled all their current defenses and drained away all their mana. Against any skilled mage managing that feat was almost more difficult than killing them, but it helped if they were a new student of magic, caught by surprise and held immobile.

Still, it took Nex a few moments to strip away her magical defenses and drain the remainder of her mana. The upside to it was that when he was finished his own pool was larger, making casting his next spell much easier. With extreme concentration and more than a little power, he pushed his way into her mind.

He didn't regularly resort to mind control, and for more than one reason. First of all it required an enormous amount of power and concentration to pull off. Second of all every moment past the first tended to drain more and more energy, and make the person harder and harder to control as their mental defenses fought back. And lastly he simply didn't like experiencing the way other people thought. It tended to reinforce how dark his own mind was.

Unfortunately for him, this mage's mind contained the mental equivalent of sunshine, rainbows, and puppy dogs.

With a grimace of distaste he pulled out of her memories, which meant withdrawing almost all the way out of her thoughts. That meant he'd have to resort to questioning rather than simply riffling through her knowledge like perusing an extremely disorganized filing cabinet. He let her go, set her against the wall before she could slide bonelessly to the ground, and looked into her surprisingly blue eyes.

"Do you know of a book known as the Journal of Aegwynn?" he asked. She nodded slowly, but didn't offer the information. Generally people being magically interrogated this way tended to only answer direct requests for information. Their minds were held too tightly to do anything else. "Do you know where it is?" She nodded again. Nex smiled. "Good. Give me detailed directions on how to get there, and anything I should know about its owner."

As she talked, he settled against the other wall, half listening to her words, but largely concentrating on what came next. It was surprising what a little motivation in the form of imminent death could do for a man; it hadn't taken him nearly as long as he'd expected to gather the information he required.

Now it was time to plan the diversion.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

The Diversion

The Light worked in mysterious ways.

It was his sense of disquiet that had led him to the western ramparts, where he often came for solace. He had spent many nights staring out at the serenity of Elwynn Forest's swaying treetops and secluded clearings, with the lights of Goldshire winking in the distance. But when he arrived there it was not solace he found, but more disquiet.

Two guards kept watch during the midnight shift, though it had been months since he'd been in Stormwind and he didn't know if he would recognize them. But when he crested the narrow stairway that led up to the outer wall's battlements he saw no sign of either guard.

Immediately his hand went to his hammer, drawing it from its straps on his back and letting its comforting weight rest from one hand. He crouched below the crenellations, making his way carefully forward with all senses alert. There was an eerie silence to the city, as if it slept more deeply than usual on such a fine summer evening.

About a third of the way along the ramparts he stumbled across the body of one of the guards, slumped against the battlements. With a quiet curse he knelt, fingers scrabbling beneath the armor for the man's skin. It was warm, and a moment later the guard gave a soft snore. Sleeping. Torn between relief that the man was alive and further disquiet, he shook the guard's shoulder roughly. "Hey, wake up," he hissed.

Nothing. The man's sleep was not mere fatigue.

Puros searched deep within himself for the Light, calling upon it for aid. His hand on the guard's shoulder began to glow, and cleansing light flowed over the man, washing away whatever enchantment held him bound. The guard gave a start and came awake, then cried out when he saw Puros crouching over him.

"Easy, lad," Puros said. "What's happened here?"

The man pushed groggily to his feet, shaking his head as if to jar away sleepiness. "Happened, my Lord? I...I must have fallen asleep, is all."

Puros strained to see farther down the ramparts, and near the end saw another shape nearly hidden in the shadows. "Is that all?" he repeated dubiously. He stretched forth his hand, calling upon the Light once more, and the figure at the end of the walkway came awake with a cry. Puros turned back to the stairs grimly. "Sound the alarm and alert the thief catchers. I fear the city has been infiltrated."

Nex. There was no evidence for it, but Puros was certain he was correct. Where in the city would the boy go? He didn't know, but a fair guess would be the Slaughtered Lamb. He rushed down the narrow steps faster than was safe, hoping against hope he'd be faster than the disaster he felt looming.

. . . . .

After a few deep breaths Nex judged himself as ready as he'd ever be. Concentrating deeply on the task at hand, he extended his second sight through the crates that made up his hiding place, over houses shadowy to his mind's eye, across the canal and into the district of Stormwind known as the Park.

There he saw an even darker shadow among the shadows, the sentry warlock set to patrol the Park and watch for any covert attempt by the Church of Light to attack or spy on the warlock coven at the Slaughtered Lamb. Here things got tricky. With the lightest touch he could manage he approached the warlock with his mind's eye and subtly linked to his mind. The only result of the link was that he saw what the warlock saw, an unobtrusive spell that was almost impossible to detect. It was important to scout out the warlock's mind closely before he tried to actually control it; users of shadow magic were notoriously difficult to charm.

As he'd hoped, the warlock's vision was slightly blurry and swayed drunkenly with every step the warlock took, testament to the quality of ale Topper had plied the unlucky demonologist with. Being drunk would weaken the lock's mind enough to, hopefully, make his job a bit easier. To the side and slightly behind he caught occasional glimpses of the warlock's imp familiar, out of phase with the rest of the world so none but its master could see it. His first action after charming the man would have to be to kill the imp, since the mind control would break the ties of compulsion the warlock held over the demon, setting it free.

"All right Jovarn," he muttered as the warlock sentry walked his drunken patrol. "You better not have decided to stop at the Errant's Alehouse this time around."

The warlock continued on, past the stone tunnel that led towards the canal proper. The tunnel the guardsman Jovarn should have been standing at the end of, checking both ways as part of his routine patrol of the district. Assuming Topper's information was correct. So far the beggar had been very helpful, but even if he was wrong in this case Nex could control the warlock and go seeking for Jovarn out in the canals. It wasn't something he wanted to do, since every second he remained linked to the warlock would give the man that much more time to break the link. And the backlash of the broken link would show the warlock exactly where Nex was hiding. It wasn't him he wanted the warlocks fighting tonight.

Thankfully it didn't come to that. Out of the corner of the warlock's eye he caught the reflection of a torch on metal. He sprang into action, battering down the drunken man's mental defenses with waves of dark magic. Before the surprised warlock could even begin to respond he was inside the man's mind. He had only a vague impression of his own body, while most of his senses were weighed down with the impressions from his victim, like wearing a cheap suit of thick wool. It dulled the warlock's reflexes somewhat, but hopefully it wouldn't be a problem.

He snatched the warlock's belt knife from its sheath and slammed it down into the top of the imp's head. The little creature died in mid-cackle, still too confused at having its bonds abruptly loosed to do more than start to turn on him. Then he turned and rushed towards Jovarn. "Help!" he shouted. "The warlocks are revolting!"

Jovarn smiled blankly at him. Obviously he'd had a chance to dip into the Errant's Alehouse after all. "They sure are. Not much to be done about it though, right?"

Nex considered trying to explain to the idiot, but he was close enough that he opted for just grabbing the guard by the throat and shoving the knife into his belly. Jovarn looked at him blankly, then opened his mouth to scream. Nex slammed the knife's hilt into the side of the guard's face and let go of his throat long enough to catch at his shoulder and yank him around. The warlock wasn't particularly strong, which threw off his balance a bit, but with only a little scuffle he managed to get behind the guard with an arm around his neck and the dagger tickling one of his eyes. "Call for help," he said calmly.

Jovarn didn't need to be told twice. "Help! Help! Guard under attack! Raise the armcry! Raise the ar-ooof!"

Nex shoved the body away and gathered the warlock's power into a ball of shadows in his palm. It wasn't long until he heard the clatter of boots and the clash of metal on metal from the other end of the tunnel. Guards from the barracks room there burst into view, half a score in all. At the sight of Jovarn's body they skidded to a halt, cursing and milling in shock. One ran back the way they'd come, likely for more reinforcements.

As Nex had hoped, Corporal Taggart was at their head, roused from his leisure at the guardhouse. He made the warlock smile. "The battle for Hyjal was not so long ago, fools. Demons almost destroyed the world, but you're willing to let them into your cities now? Do you think we who consort with that foul kind can really be trusted?"

Taggart stepped forward, face twisted in disgust. "What have you done, warlock?" he demanded. Behind him a couple of guards raised crossbows. Nex's smile widened.

"I've struck the first blow. By morning Stormwind will be the abode of Demon Lord Kilranash!" And with those words he hurled the ball of shadow energy at the group of guards. But not at Taggart. No, he had a special plan for the corporal.

At the same time he loosed the shadowbolt he heard a twang as the crossbows sent bolts of their own hurtling towards the warlock. He abandoned his current host and forced himself into Taggart's mind instead. The guardsman was strong, surprisingly so, but after the warlock it seemed child's play to break his natural defenses down. Once inside he was gratified to find a mind much darker than Taggart's outward demeanor would suggest.

When Nex was within the much stronger, more responsive body of the guard his first sight was a rewarding one; that of the warlock he'd controlled going down with two crossbow bolts in his chest.

One demon user down.

The shadow bolt flew past Taggart and struck the guard behind him, and the man gave a cry of anguish as he went down. Nex took a deep breath. "Tevin, get to the Cathedral of Light and get a priest for Jovarn and Antonial! Any aid they'll give. Mic, get to the Mage Tower and warn them that the warlocks are attacking. We'll need all their help to throw them back."

"Sir!" he turned Taggart to find the guard who'd fled rushing out of the barracks with a handful of other men. Taggart knew them all, of course, and in his mind Nex now did as well.

"Kano, get to the keep and alert the Palace Guards. The rest of you with me! If we respond quick maybe we can slow their plans!" Without waiting to see if anyone followed him he rushed down the tunnel, past the two bodies there, and down the park path towards the Slaughtered Lamb. Unsurprisingly the tramp of booted feet was soon close behind. "Damnit," he snarled as if talking to himself. "I never trusted those warlocks, but the mages assured me they'd keep them under close scrutiny."

"Not close enough, sir," one of the guards muttered. "Never did like that bar they gather at."

"Aye. You hear tales of catacombs down beneath there, ancient crypts where they're performing obscene rites and raising corpses."

"At least we'll have a place to bury them all when we're done," Nex said. There was a raised porch outside the Slaughtered Lamb, which he leapt up onto, lowering his shoulder and bursting through the door in one smooth motion.

Inside half a dozen casters whirled from their seats at tables or at the bar, gaping. The air reeked of demonic taint, just as it had the last time he'd been there. He saw an imp ducking under a table.

"Oy!" Jarel Moor, slouched behind the bar, shouted as he straightened. "Just what the hell is-"

Nex pushed Taggart into a dive over the bar, skewering the barkeep on the end of his sword. "Don't give 'em a chance to say anything, lads! Who knows what magic they'll call up." At the massive table in its niche across from the bar half a dozen warlocks were doing just that. One, obviously proficient in demonology, had already called up a voidwalker and sacrificed it, and was calling up another demon. A vile black shield protected him. "This is the end of the road for you, monsters," he said for good measure as he whirled and charged at the nearest warlock. "Now the city of Stormwind makes you pay for consorting with demons!"

With a half smile Nex released the corporal just as a dozen spells converged on the poor man. Back in his body once more he could hear screams, calls, and shouted orders in the near distance, on the other side of a cluster of mage houses and magical shops. Over in the direction of the keep high tinny bells began to ring out, while the huge, majestic bell over the Cathedral of Light began booming out a low, sonorous gong.

Hmm, that was fast. He'd expected Stormwind to take longer to respond. Oh well, it just meant he'd have to be fast himself.

Nex sought with his second sight, very carefully, and sensed a group of mages and the guard Mic rushing up the circular grassy path towards the Slaughtered Lamb. With any luck news of a full-on attack by warlocks would have every mage in the area rushing away, but Nex was still cautious as he vaulted over the crates and barrels that made up his makeshift hiding place and slunk up the narrow circular ramp that went around the outside of the mage tower.

His second sight warned him of action up above, and he dove for the side of the ramp, caught its edge with his fingernails, and swung out and under it just as the patter of slippered feet rushed from the door and down the ramp towards him. Four mages, late to the party it seemed. Nex caught the other side of the ramp with his toes and pulled himself up tight against the underside of it, holding his breath and going perfectly still. Being caught trying to sneak into Stormwind's mage tower might or might not spell certain death, but he doubted it would be pleasant.

"...knew this day would come," one of the mages above was saying as they rushed past.

"Over a dozen men have already died," another voice, female, said in reproof. "You don't have to sound so smug about being right."

Nex couldn't help but smile. Two birds with one stone. Completely genius. Create a distraction to let him do his job all the easier, and at the same time eliminate the refuge of those who called demons into this world, thinning their numbers as he did so.

He heard the mages reach the bottom of the ramp and run by beneath him, thankfully not looking up as they passed, and as soon as they were a fair distance away he hauled himself back up onto the ramp and sprinted the rest of the way. He was running out of time.

Inside the ornate wooden door was a fairly spare circular room with benches along every wall. Obviously a waiting area. The only way out of the room was _another_ ramp, circling up out of sight. "Demonshit," he muttered in annoyance. "This how mages get their exercise?"

Thankfully this ramp wasn't nearly as long. At the top of it was another room almost identical to the one below it, except for instead of benches around the walls there were a few bookshelves and some curio stands. In the middle of the room was a table, and at the other end of it, opposite where the ramp came out of the floor, was an open portal to somewhere else.

It was, unfortunately, sealed by two different wards, neither of them minor.

"Damnit." Apprentice mages and mage initiates were likely taught the passwords to the wards early on in their studies. It was an easy way to keep an area accessible and at the same time very well defended. And if he hadn't been such an idiot, he would have thought to get those passwords from the apprentice he had interrogated earlier. He had expected to be fairly quickly into areas where an apprentice wouldn't be allowed access, and had been prepared to deal with those magical defenses in his own way. But he could have saved a lot of time if he hadn't been fool enough to think the mages wouldn't have _some_ defense on their front door. He'd been too hasty, that's all. He couldn't allow that need for haste to goad him into any more mistakes.

Oh well, there was no help for that now. He didn't have time to go find a mage and get the key from him, which left only the option of breaking down the door. So to speak.

The theory behind double wards was similar to that behind back-to-back fighting; each protected the other's weakness. A single ward was vulnerable to dispelling at its power source, so the double wards were each strongest where they overlapped the power source of the other. And these wards had been very artfully constructed, likely by a team. They were in their own right a masterpiece. A demon lord could probably have forced its way through them, or Illidan, but poor little Nex-thanarak wasn't at that level.

Fortunately for him, there were other ways to take down a ward besides brute force. They required far more concentration and precision, but he wasn't exactly lacking in either field. Nex began gradually feeding his power into the wards, not to weaken them but to reinforce them.

Just about every ward, shield, and armor out there was constructed on a spell matrix that allowed them to be strengthened. It only made sense that you would want them to be strong enough to withstand the attack coming at them. Most spellcasters weren't too concerned with this minor flaw, for the simple reason that if _they_ were the ones reinforcing the wards then they could stop before they overloaded the matrices, and if for some reason the _enemy_ was reinforcing the wards they could either cause a backlash surge that would give the enemy a nasty jolt, or just dissolve the matrices altogether and eliminate the problem.

Stationary wards meant to guard a location in the middle of a city in peacetime, unfortunately, didn't have anyone paying that much attention to them. An invoker likely came by every so often to test the wards, or so Nex surmised, but he doubted that invoker would be as concerned with that duty as with quelling a suspected uprising of demonologists one street over from their front door.

The wards began humming alarmingly as the power within them began unraveling the matrices. The matrices wavered and danced, bulging along every angle from the power seeking to escape their bounds. They were getting dangerously close to forming feedback loops that would be the equivalent of a mana detonation. In this small room that could be a problem. Nex formed a word of power and a shield sprang up around him, nowhere near at the level of the wards he was tinkering with, but hopefully enough to cushion him from the concussion shockwave. Then, squinting his eyes shut and cupping one hand protectively over his groin, he fed the last surge of energy into the wards.

The concussion of the two wards exploding sent him flying against the wall on the opposite side of the room. Hard. He slumped to the ground, dazed, and took the luxury of a few moments to allow his eyes to refocus. "Damn," he muttered. "Not bad wards." He was just getting his feet under him when a mage appeared through the portal he'd just broken the defenses of in a burst of arcane energy. "Hey!" the mage shouted. She was young, but unfortunately not a trivial conjurer. Nex bit back a groan.

He was already stretched pretty thin. Controlling a warlock's mind wasn't exactly a walk in the park (although to be fair, that one _had_ technically been a walk in the park), and pushing two solid interconnecting wards into feedback loops hadn't been trivial either. Nor had the shield he'd protected himself with.

"Wonderful," he muttered, pushing the rest of the way to his feet and unleashing a spell at her that would burn her mana. Such spells were at the same time a weakness and a strength for mages. They usually had more mana than could be burned by any single mana burst spell, and they could counter any prolonged assault on their mana pool. Still having their mana burned was never a good thing, no matter how large your mana pool was, and his attack sent the girl reeling back, her skin and robes smoking.

Nex took the opportunity to charge forward, leaping through the air and aiming a spin kick at her head. Best if he could end the fight quickly, before she had a chance to focus any magical defenses or prepare any attacks. Unfortunately mages of her skill were hard to catch off guard. About a half a foot from her face his leg suddenly went ice cold, and a bubble of deep blue ice curled around her. His demon skin protected him from some of the cold, but he still staggered as he landed, and took precious moments to catch his balance on a half-useless leg.

The mage dropped straight downwards in some sort of fancy split, slamming her palm into the ground. From beneath her hand ice spidered out in every direction, a field of intense cold that came a foot off the ground. Nex jumped desperately just before it reached him, avoiding the shockwave as it sped past, but while he was in the air and his concentration elsewhere the mage gathered a tiny icicle in one hand, almost absurd looking it was so small, and flung it at him. It couldn't have taken her more than an instant to work the spell from start to finish.

Midair he couldn't dodge, and when the icicle hit him he felt a wave of cold wash over him. The spell barely hurt him at all, but his muscles responded sluggishly to his commands, his movements slowed. The blue shield around the mage abruptly shattered in all directions, coating him with a layer of ice, and the next thing he knew he was on the ground, unable to move.

"Enough of this," he muttered through frozen lips. He didn't have time to fight a skilled magic user. Destroying the wards had likely already alerted the other mages to his presence, and a prolonged magical battle would bring them back all the faster. Glaring angrily at the woman he gathered his mental energy, and opted for a strategy he rarely employed. Negotiation.

He unleashed the energy in powerful waves against her mind. Waves designed not to batter down her mental defenses but to soothe her emotional ones. Like warm oil rolling over a freezing man they lulled her, second by gradual second, until the suspicion and anger in her face gave way to confusion and not a little pity. If controlling the mind of a warlock was difficult, controlling the mind of a trained mage was scarcely less so, especially when all her magical and mental defenses were up.

Soothing such a mind, however... "Why are we fighting?" he asked, feigning helplessness. To her eyes he would be frozen, and in her control. As he spoke he was careful to time the cadence of his words to the waves of soothing energy which enveloped her mind. "Surely you're not allied with the warlocks?"

She blinked slowly. "Warlocks?" she repeated uncertainly.

Nex pushed a little harder. "Haven't you wondered why they gathered in this city? Aren't you the least bit curious why they decided to put their base of operations a stone's throw from the group of people who hate them most?"

"Who are you?" she asked.

"I'm an agent of the Kirin Tor. After the fall of Dalaran I was set the task of gathering up artifacts which the Burning Legion or their servants would have a special interest in."

Her eyes, clouded with uncertainty, began to glow a cool blue. She wasn't buying it. "Why did you attack our wards? And why now, when the warlocks are launching a major assault on the city?"

Nex pushed even harder. Sweat beaded on his brow at the effort, and one drop slipped down into one eye, making it sting maddeningly. He ignored it. "Why now? _Because_ the warlocks are launching their major attack. They're not here to take over Stormwind, or even to destroy it. There's an artifact in the mage tower they covet, one that the archmages of Stormwind don't even realize the value of. The attack was merely a ruse to draw all the mages from the tower, one which is certainly working. Even now they're using demonic circles to infiltrate the tower and search it." That he was telling several fragments of the truth helped make his lies more believable, but he was still lying, and the mage was no fool.

"Maybe...you...are...one of them," she murmured. The cold glow in her eyes was getting brighter.

A ribbon of sweat trickled down his back. Nex fought with every ounce of concentration to hold her emotions in check, while at the same time he opened just such a demonic circle across the room from them, near the ramp that led down to the first room. "Look out!" he shouted, looking past her. Still to her eyes frozen in place, he could do no more to "warn" her. But it was enough. Her head snapped around, and she stretched out her hands to send a cone of arctic air howling towards the portal.

Nex, more pragmatic, gathered up dark energy and used it to unravel the portal itself, undoing all the work he'd just painstakingly done. Then he gasped and slumped down weakly into the embrace of the solid ice that held him. It wasn't all an act. "You have to act now, mage," he said. It wasn't hard to put urgency into the words. "Keep me trapped here if you wish, if you do not trust me. But you must go and retrieve the item before they take control of the tower and find it themselves."

The mage was staring at the place the circle had been, her face clouded with doubt. "What artifact is it they covet?" she asked slowly.

"It is a journal! One kept by a Guardian of Tirisfal." He hoped for recognition, but there was nothing. "The last Guardian, I think! Or the one before! A human woman, who fought a demon lord in Northrend!"

Finally recognition dawned. "The Journal of Aegwynn, kept in the collection of Archmage Korack."

Nex felt a surge of relief. That confirmed what the apprentice had told him, without revealing what he knew that might be suspicious. "Yes, that must be it! You must take it and flee the tower. Teleport to some safe place."

The woman hesitated a moment more, and then the icy bonds which held Nex pinned vanished. Air that seemed hot as a furnace blast washed over him, and he gasped with relief. "Do not follow me, whoever you are," she warned. Then she turned and rushed through the portal.

Nex stretched out on the ground, closing his eyes and relishing the chance to rest. Stretching out with his second sight he sought out the mage's mind and formed the small link that would let him see through her eyes. Convenient, to get someone else to do his work for him.

. . . . .

Guardsmen were converging on the Mage Quarter, and not all of them city guards. He saw the gilded armor of the palace guards, as well as officers and random mercenaries and would-be heroes drawn by the action. He hoped Stormwind's defenders hadn't all been so foolish as to abandon their posts.

Green fire crackled over the rooftops in the direction of the Slaughtered Lamb, and he saw one tendril of the hellish flames catch an eave and set a store on fire with more normal flames. He abandoned caution and burst into a sprint for the area, terrified of the innocents that would suffer if he did not aid in stopping this.

A city guard rushed down the circular grassy path towards him, the right side of his face and all of his right arm black with burn, his armor scorched and even glowing with heat in a few places. The man was screaming in agony and terror, and his eyes reflected only panic. Puros caught the guard and shoved him to the ground as gently as he could, before the poor man could seriously injure himself. At his call the Light washed over the both of them, easing the man's pain and soothing charred flesh. The injuries were beyond his skill to heal, but he could at least calm the man's panic and prevent the burns from becoming fatal.

As the man's breathing slowed and the wildness in his eyes faded, Puros took his face in his hands and stared firmly into his eyes. "What's happening?" he demanded.

The man blinked slowly, as if he'd only barely heard the question and was trying to repeat it in his mind. "Warlocks," he whispered. "They killed Jovarn, and Corporal Taggart when he led the charge. The first one to attack us said they were summoning a demon lord!"

"What of a pale man who looks as if he is starving, dressed in fine clothes?" The man just stared at him blankly, and Puros cursed and eased him to the ground, standing and rushing up the path once more. It was impossible that Nex was not involved in this, not after he'd put two guards and possibly more to sleep and infiltrated the city. The timing was too coincidental for this "warlock uprising".

He emerged into the square before the Slaughtered Lamb and stopped, mouth slack with shock and grief.

The carnage before him was horrifying. It might have fit neatly into a scene such as the aftermath of Hyjal, or the slaughter of the Order of Uther by the traitor Arthas's undead. But it was not a scene that belonged in the midst of his fair city. _It did not belong._

The Slaughtered Lamb was a burned wreck, washed with ice, charred with flame, and crackling with arcane energy. The entrance to a single passageway leading to the catacombs beneath the tavern was packed with warlocks fighting for their very lives, summoning waves of lesser demons to hold back the ring of guardsmen pushing ever closer. Farther back dozens of mages were raining down magical attacks, most of which were absorbed or repelled but a few of which were striking home, sending demonic magic users flying or freezing them in place. More than a dozen bodies already littered the remains of the tavern, and nearly twice that many guardsmen were stretched out behind the ring of their comrades, being frantically treated by priests and paladins while other paladins bolstered the ranks of guardsmen, shielding their comrades from demonic attacks with the Holy Light. Back among the mages other priests were hard at work dispelling the warlocks' defenses so their companions could land their devastating attacks to full effect.

The warlocks were putting up a fight, but it was obvious that within a few minutes they would be overwhelmed and completely wiped out. Puros heartily approved of the notion.

Then one of the warlocks, an undead of all things, threw down his staff and rushed forward, falling to his knees just outside the hottest region of conflict between demon and guardsman. "Mercy!" he shouted. "What have we done to deserve this unprovoked attack?" Puros could feel waves of corrupted energy flowing out from the creature, not in an attack but in an attempt to soothe the wrath of his attackers.

His pleas were met by jeers from the guardsmen, and intensified casting from the mages and priests. But one or two of the paladins were pausing, sickened by the bloodshed and troubled by the undead's words. The undead capitalized on this tiny opening. "We will be first to extend the hand of peace!" he cried. "Warlocks, recall your demons and cease casting!" There was a long, terrible pause, and then the demons began breaking ranks, slinking back to their masters. The aura of demonic magic faded somewhat, and the protections the warlocks were raising began to fall.

Puros looked around, and he could see the indecision on the faces of his allies. It was obvious they wanted to take this opening to destroy the shadow wielders once and for all. But to do so would damn their souls to darkness. He stepped forward before the slaughter could begin, pushing through the ranks of his brothers and the guardsmen until he stood on the tainted ground where the Slaughtered Lamb had stood.

As hundreds of faces looked on he knelt, praying to the Light, consecrating the desecrated ground beneath him. Others of his brothers stepped forward to join him, and after a few more tense moments the situation was diffused.

When Puros was sure his brothers had the ritual in hand he stood, wearily, and made his way towards the warlocks. "Justice must be done," he said gently, directing his words to the undead who seemed to lead the coven. "Whoever is responsible for this catastrophe must be punished."

The undead had fallen to one knee, looking spent and haggard. Of course the fact that most of his nose had rotted away and his skin was covered with lesions might have contributed to that. "I swear upon my unlife that it was not my brothers who began this. We were in our tavern, being about our business, when a squad of guardsmen burst through our door and began slaughtering us in our seats. My comrade, Jarel Moor, was one of the first to fall."

Puros didn't want to believe the undead monstrosity, but he had a sinking feeling it was telling the truth. He turned to the guardsmen. "What happened?" he asked simply.

Captain Vandelos of the Palace Guards straightened, face stiff with anger. "Do you mean to tell me you believe that monster's words?" he demanded. "To think a paladin of Turalyon's order, of all people, would-"

Puros raised his voice over the captain's, his words ringing out over the assembled throng. "I didn't ask for protests of outrage, Captain. I asked for the truth, and I expect the truth to be told."

Vandelos subsided, though he looked sullen. "I don't know. When I arrived the bloody massacre had already begun."

Puros spared the man further rebuke, running his eyes over the guards until one, a younger man, stepped forward reluctantly. "It were in the Park area," he offered. "A warlock were standing over Jovarn's corpse, speaking to some madness abou' summoning a demon lord. Then he cast a spell what kilt Antonial, and Taggart sent me to fetch the priests ter help whilst he led a charge on the warlock's den."

Taggart. Curiouser and curiouser. Could this trouble all have started because Nex tried to murder the corporal? Puros stepped closer to the guard, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Tell me of this warlock. Was he pale? Did he look half-starved? Were his clothes fine?"

The guard shrugged. "I weren't t'know. But we has his body, iffen you wants to see it."

. . . . .

The bulk of the mage tower was obviously not housed in the slender spire rising out of the Mage Quarter. It was too large for that, though Nex wasn't sure if the portal led to some dimensional pocket or perhaps a structure at some other place.

The mage he'd subverted was rushing down a corridor, one that was conveniently free of demonic circles. Nex sincerely hoped she wouldn't notice that little inconsistency in his story. But perhaps it wouldn't have occasion to occur to her; wherever she was going it was deep within the tower, where the magical defenses were strongest and demonic portals would be nearly impossible to open. Some of those wards were designed to deter magical snooping, and riding behind her eyes required more and more effort the farther in she went. It was lucky for him that he'd managed to get her "aid", as it seemed she was a highly placed mage, capable of going where she needed to go.

She paused before a door, more ornate than others along the long corridor. Rather than using a password or other means of defeating the ward, this time she looked both ways, then began attacking it openly. It was a sturdy ward, smaller but better devised than the ones protecting the entrance portal had been. Tense minutes passed as she battered at it with surprising magical skill and strength. The more Nex saw of her abilities, the gladder he was that he hadn't needed to continue the fight with her.

Finally she broke through, glanced both ways again, and slipped through the door. The room inside was lavish to the point of being obscene, with numerous glass cases holding magical artifacts scattered across the lush carpet and along the walls. Nex saw one with tomes, some ancient and some newer, many with valuable jewels ornamenting the covers, or precious metals. The mage glanced at that case, thoughtfully, then slipped deeper into the room towards a case in which a crystal rod less than a foot long hung in midair. Whatever the crystal was, it produced its own glow. It was clouded, like quartz, save that the cloudy imperfection moved along the crystal in strange patterns. The mage knelt before the case, hands working before it. The ward protecting the case was, if anything, even more formidable than the one protecting the door.

Nex cursed. That dirty bitch. Retrieving the tome wasn't a priority for her at all. If she did anything with it she'd take it and destroy or hide it, then point to Nex as the thief. His presence and the warlock diversion had been nothing more than a convenient excuse for her to steal something she'd obviously coveted for a long while.

Powerful or not, formidable or not, he was going to kill her.

Slipping his whip from beneath his cloak he lunged through the portal. The room he was in now was an intermediary, with more portals along the walls. It stretched on for dozens of yards, far bigger than the tower it was supposedly in. But then, mages adhered to a different reality than most. He could feel the female mage's magic residue like a faint fragrance of flowers in the air, leading to the first portal on the right, so he probed it for wards then plunged through. He recognized the corridor he now found himself in, and without hesitation broke into a trot.

His progress through the tower wasn't as swift as the mage's had been. Some of the wards he encountered he managed to dispel himself, others he had seen the trick of while riding behind the mage's eyes and so could sneak past them. At one he was stuck for nearly five minutes, probing its complexities. It wasn't a powerful ward, but it was obviously an alarm of some sort, likely one that would trigger a spell to animate the statues and suits of armor lining the corridor. A mistake in attempting to circumvent it would set it off as surely as if he merely walked past it, so he took his time.

By the time he reached the final corridor leading to the Archmage's room the mage was already outside the door, expertly replacing the ward she'd defeated. In one hand she held the wand she'd come to steal, and tucked under that arm was the Journal of Aegwynn. She looked up at his approach, and a gratifying expression of shock crossed her features.

"You," she hissed.

"Thought you'd use the chaos to indulge in some theft?" Nex asked. As he spoke the final words he lifted both hands and unleashed a spell that would steal her mana for himself. He saw her hand twitch as she countered the spell, and ceased casting a moment before she finished the move. Surprise clouded her features once more, then anger. Nex began draining her mana once more.

Rather than try to again counter, or cast some other spell, the woman lifted the rod and turned it on him.

Nex desperately shouted the word of power that would shield him, while at the same time he pushed some of the magical power he'd stolen straight downwards, levitating quickly towards the ceiling. He hit it hard, right as a wave of energy that was unpleasantly potent rippled through the air where he had been with dull _whumph_ that made his teeth hurt. The mage's eyes narrowed in annoyance, and she raised the wand towards him. Nex released the levitation spell and dropped towards the ground. The woman had obviously been expecting it, because this time the blast caught him square, tearing through his shield. He flipped through the air, hitting the tiled floor hard and bouncing half a dozen times, scrabbling with his hands and feet to cushion the bounces, slow his unchecked sprawl, and get his balance back.

He landed facedown, too sore to move. Every muscle felt as if he'd been beaten solidly for hours straight. The tile against his cheek was cool, but near his jaw he felt a curious heat.

His whip. He still had it.

Somewhere beyond his feet he heard the soft, steady tread of the mage approaching on slippered feet. "I thought I warned you, intruder, not to follow." he heard a rustle of cloth and she appeared in his field of vision, kneeling by his head. He heard another rustle that wasn't cloth, and it took him a moment to recognize it as paper. She had the journal out, holding it by the spine and shaking it lightly so the pages rustled. "What's in here that's so valuable that you'd try to steal it from a tower full of mages?" Nex tried to speak but no sound escaped his lips. Still he mouthed the words. The woman frowned. "What?"

He mouthed the words again, and she leaned closer almost mockingly, putting her ear closer to his mouth with her hand cupping it. Her robe was loose cut in front, and her position afforded him a quite pleasant view. More importantly, whatever magical protections were imbued in that robe were no longer covering the area right over her heart. "Go," he whispered.

The whip snapped forward, cutting into his face where he rested on top of it as it went. The pain was sharp, and oddly provided a welcome relief to the full-body ache. The tip slipped down the front of the mage's robe and pierced her chest, and she lurched back with a scream. She whirled, and her body shimmered as she executed the immediate short-range teleport most mages referred to as "blinking". But before she could disappear the heat he felt through the whip surged, and it _yanked_ her back from her teleport and flung her to the floor on top of him. _Good whip_, he thought at it. He could feel the whip writhing beneath him as it tore through the mage's body, and she slumped against him, lurched once or twice, then went still.

Whatever paralyzing effect the crystal wand had had on him was slow to fade. It was minutes before he could move, and with every passing second the pain increased, as if it had been numbed and feeling was returning. The mage's blood pooled against his chest and face, warm at first but rapidly cooling. Some demonic part of him reveled at the sensation, wanted to taste the blood, wanted to perform rites with it that he had no idea the nature of. He pushed that part of himself away with disgust and redoubled his efforts to move.

He had to get out of here, and now. Whatever time the diversion with the warlocks had bought, he very much doubted it could have lasted this long. The mages would be returning, and it was late enough that some would be more interested in their beds than in discussing the warlocks and their treachery. If he was caught helpless next to a dead mage they'd probably kill him first and ask questions like who he was and why he'd been here later.

A thought suddenly occurred to him. He'd dispelled his own demonic circle, but the residue of the destroyed matrices would remain. Was there some way he could recreate it and use it to teleport himself back into that room? His grasp of magical theory was strong, but he'd never pondered such a scenario. However...

No. Demonic circles were notoriously fickle when it came to casting them at any sort of distance. The only useful way to use them was to drop one right at your feet and then at some later point teleport back to it. But the thought did give him an idea. He was in a tower full of portals. The magic he wielded had a corrupting influence, and it was possible he could use it to wrest an exit point from a portal. He wouldn't be able to control where the new exit point was, but it would be cover the same distance after the corruption, and he was in Stormwind. Since he was conceivably a hundred yards or so up inside the tower, if he could make the portal open out onto empty air he could levitate down to the ground. Few structures were nearly as high as the tower proper, so there was little chance he'd exit inside a stone wall or something like that. As long as he didn't exit anywhere inside the tower itself he should be fine.

Groaning with effort, he managed to wiggle his fingers and toes. Good enough. He willed the whip to wrap around his wrist, then the handle slithered over and reared, wrapping around the nearest wall sconce. With less than playful roughness the whip jerked him to his feet and slammed him against a wall. _Curse you_, he thought at it. He was pretty sure he didn't imagine the whip's malicious glee. The only upside to the situation was that he hurt so badly from the wand's blast that he barely felt being smashed into a wall.

It took some effort, but he managed to brace himself against the wall enough that when the whip uncoiled from the sconce he didn't slide back to the ground. Somehow getting a grip on the handle, he got the lash to snake out and grab the Journal of Aegwynn and bring it back to him. It took a few tries, but eventually he got it tucked into an inside pocket of the cloak. The outside cover was soaked in blood, but he could only hope the important pages within were clear. Then he had the whip bring him the wand, on the rationalization that a powerful mage had really wanted it. And of course there was the fact that it had certainly kicked _his_ ass.

Ordering the whip to wrap around his chest below his shoulders, he used it as sort of a third leg to keep him on his feet as he stumbled wearily down the corridor. With far too much effort involved he managed to make it the hundred or so yards to the portal he'd come through, and he set to work altering its exit vector. The longer he worked the worse the pain in his muscles became, and it was soon joined by a jolting headache from concentrating for so long.

False gods, he hoped this day would be over soon.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Escape

The three bodies from the skirmish at the tunnel had been brought into the guardhouse and laid out. The two slain guards rested atop the tables with their blue cloaks drawn over them in honor. The warlock, however, had been dragged into a corner and left there, still pierced by the bolts that had killed him.

As the young guard, who'd introduced himself as Muroin, led the way over to the warlock's body Puros glanced back at Havel. He had been surprised when the warlock leader offered to come along and identify the body of his comrade, but at the same time Havel showed a surprising loyalty to his people, one Puros wouldn't have expected from their foul kind.

It was obvious the warlock noticed the disparity between the honor shown to the guards and the relative contempt with which his comrade had been treated. But other than a slight tightening of his mouth the undead showed no sign. Puros brushed past Muroin and turned the warlock's body over, carefully so as not to disturb the bolts. The face he saw was pale, yes, and somewhat lean, but beneath the hood a shock of red hair escaped, and the eyes wide and transfixed in death were green.

Not Nex, then. Puros had been torn between surety that the lad wanted revenge, and the conviction that it would take more than crossbow bolts to kill him. "Do you know him?" he asked Havel.

"I recognize him," Havel said reluctantly. "That's Davn Shadowstalker, one of our sentries."

"Sentries?" Puros said sharply.

The undead smiled at him, his ravaged features making the expression sinister. "We're not fools, paladin. We know we're trying to serve the cause of humanity in a city full of people who despise us. Davn was set to watch for spies or surprise attacks. He was a good man, and more disposed to walk away from a fight if he could. I have a hard time believing he would attack a group of armed guards."

Muroin went red with outrage. "If you're accusing us of ambushing him you're wrong, undead. I was there for it all. I came 'round the corner and saw this here warlock standing over Jovarn's body, raving. He kilt Antonial too before my crossbow took 'im."

Puros rested a hand on the guard's shoulder. "Easy, lad. No one is doubting your story." He frowned down at the warlock. "Now think back hard, boy. It's important you try to remember whether there was anyone else at the scene of this crime. Anyone besides this warlock and your comrades."

Muroin shook his head sharply. "I din't see no one. I follered the Corporal to the warlock tavern and joined him in the charge, and when he died I was near t' the door and I saw the others going down, so I fled."

Puros turned to Havel. "You, undead. Did you see a man identifying himself as Nex? A pale man, gaunt, with fairly fine clothes and quite powerful."

"I know who you speak of," Havel replied with some reluctance. "He visited the Slaughtered Lamb the day before yesterday. But we sent him on his way and I've not seen him since."

Puros knelt and looked closely at the body, inspecting it in every way he knew how. "You haven't," he repeated softly. "How is it possible that he should sneak into the city, putting two guardsmen to sleep to mask his entry, and at the same time this disaster should occur, and somehow the two are not related?"

He'd meant the question to be unheard, but Havel answered. "I don't know how they can be unrelated, but it appears they must be. As best any of us can tell the tense situation in Stormwind between the warlocks and those who hate us came to a head when one of my people went mad and attacked the guards, and escalated when the leader of those guards elected to send for help and attack our tavern."

Puros rose and stared hard at the undead. "You believe that?" he demanded.

Havel met his gaze unflinchingly, and Puros read sincerity in his features. "The evidence suggests it. No doubt you will continue to investigate, as will we, and more might be discovered. But for the moment it appears this was the work of two people acting on their own, without thought and without the authority of their masters."

"Yes." Puros didn't like it, since every instinct within him screamed that Nex was involved in this. But as the undead had said, there was no proof. "Then that will be my report to the leaders of Stormwind, until such evidence as disproves the conclusion is presented." He looked the shadowy figure of the Slaughtered Lamb coven's leader over with a frown, but though his next words were reluctant they were sincere as well. "Thank you for your help here, warlock. And for the risk you took in ending the battle before more blood could be shed. It was brave of you to be the first to throw down your weapons and willingly surrender. I did not expect it of your kind."

Havel laughed harshly, a grating sound from his undead throat. Puros suppressed a shudder. "Dead is dead, paladin. No one knows it better than I. To die fighting or to die with your weapons at your feet are both unpleasant choices, but only one offered the least chance of continued existence."

Puros looked deep into the yellow glow that had replaced the undead's eyes. The eyes of every other undead he'd seen had glown blue, testament to their ties to the Lich King. "And now that this has happened, what will you do?"

That yellow gaze continued to bore into him. "We will do as we have done, using the powers of darkness in the service of Azeroth and humanity." Havel finally looked away, frowning. "With your permission I would like to get back to my people. They need my leadership at this time, and I've helped you all I can here."

Puros nodded and waved the warlock away. "Please do. It might be best if all your people hide in the catacombs beneath the Slaughtered Lamb's ruins for now, and not show their faces. I'll set a contingent of paladins to guard you from further attack."

Havel nodded and slipped back down the tunnel, and the young guardsman Muroin went deeper into the guardhouse attending to some errand. Puros made his way back outside and stared up into the sky, still filled with disquiet even though the trouble seemed to have settled. Nex was still in the city, somewhere. The search for him was progressing, with those guards that could be spared from the devastation of the Slaughtered Lamb combing the streets. But their numbers were too few, and Puros had the uneasy feeling that whatever the lad planned, he would succeed in it.

Then a flash in the sky above caught his eye, and he stared in shock as a dark figure appeared from nowhere some two hundred feet above the ground, in the air over the canals fronting the Trade District. The shape began to fall, and then with another flash began drifting instead, slowly floating down over the Trade District towards the front gates.

Puros cursed and sprinted after it. There was no way to be certain, of course, but he was. It was Nex floating down from the sky above, wherever he'd come from.

. . . . .

As Havel hurried from the guardhouse he couldn't help but feel a little relief at the conclusion Puros had, albeit reluctantly, been forced to draw.

Havel, on the other hand, knew better. The boy Nex had possessed both the power and the strength of mind to control others, a talent that Havel had found in few he encountered even in the circles he traveled. And it was indeed, as the paladin had said, very unlikely that Nex would infiltrate the city at the same time violence broke out between Havel's coven and those who hated them most.

Truth be told, the undead necromancer had to admit the deft touch the boy had shown bordered on a work of art. Mind control was very risky because no matter how it was broken, in the instant the connection was severed a sort of backlash was produced, allowing the victim to briefly glimpse into the mind of whoever was behind the mental attack. It was generally enough for an intelligent person to find the person who had controlled their mind and go exact a little revenge. Or, if they were smart, to run in the opposite direction and pray they weren't followed.

But the fact that it looked as if two people had without a good reason gone mad and attacked members the other faction, igniting a powder keg, was very suspicious. And even more suspicious that both of the instigators of the fight had ended up dead, eliminating the worry that they'd be able to identify the person who'd controlled their mind. If Havel himself had wanted to start a battle that was exactly how he would have gone about it.

Of course much as he admired the boy's cleverness and skill, the little shit had still almost destroyed the Slaughtered Lamb and all Havel's coven with his little stunt. Moor wasn't Havel's only close companion who had lost his life, and all any of them had wanted was to use the demons' own magic against them. Or in Havel's case against the Lich King.

Yes, if Havel could manage it Nex would pay. But he couldn't tell Puros or the guards any of what he knew. His people had enough trouble without their enemies finding out they could control the minds of others. If word of that leaked out the massacre he had narrowly prevented tonight would resume in full force, and it was likely Puros Lightfinder and his brothers would be at the front of the torch-waving mob.

Havel sighed; Nex would have to be a worry for another time. At the moment his concentration had to be on rebuilding his coven and restoring their sanctuary.

But he wouldn't forget.

. . . . .

It would be difficult to accurately describe the sensation of taking a step and finding yourself in free-fall with the ground two hundred feet below.

Of course that had been the outcome Nex had been hoping for when he'd stepped through the portal, and which he'd been working towards for nearly five minutes. Still, for a split second upon finding himself falling he froze in momentary shock. During that split second the ground seemed to get _much_ closer. With a curse he unleashed his prepared levitation spell and his fall slowed to a feather's drift, carrying him forward far faster than it carried him downwards.

Imminent death by falling averted for the moment, he glanced around to get his bearings, and after a moment cursed again. The good news was that he was drifting away from the numerous blazes that lit up the conflict zone around the Slaughtered Lamb. The bad news was that he was drifting over the sleeping Trade District towards the main avenue. If he'd had his way he would've preferred to be drifting in the opposite direction, toward the slopes that rose over the western wall of the city. At this height he could have gone right over that wall and been out of the city with a minimum of fuss.

A harsh avian cry snapped his head around, and he had another reason to be displeased at the direction he was drifting.

The front walls loomed in the distance, and from behind them a gryphon rose into view, flapping its wings powerfully in takeoff. It was obvious it had just emerged from its roost for the purpose of scouting the city. On its back rode a slender figure carrying a recurve bow. The figure spied him, called out to the gryphon, and a moment later both were winging towards him with stunning speed.

"Damn." It wouldn't take much to break his concentration on the levitation spell, and he was still a good seventy feet above the ground. Not to mention the fact that a skilled archer on the back of a gryphon in controlled flight could pick him off at his leisure, drifting the way he was. Oh well, time to try out a new toy.

As quickly as he could he reached into his belt pouch and drew out one of the two torpedoes resting there. The other three were at the bottom of his pack, too heavy and awkward to be stored anywhere else for the moment. The heavy rod with its two razor tips glowed a soft red in the darkness. It wasn't often he had a weapon fit for enchanting to hit with greater impact. For daggers and knives such an enchantment was practically useless, while with axes and hammers it was far more effective. The harder the weapon hit, the more useful the enchantment became.

Nex was no expert with this new torpedo weapon, but he figured it was heavy enough to make impact the ideal enchantment. Also it was nice to finally have use for an enchantment besides demonslaying.

Waving his left arm to balance himself as much as possible, he cocked his right arm back and concentrated. The gryphon had risen above him and was tucking in its wings to drop straight down at him with its claws extended to catch him, the classic attack pattern for a predatory bird. For the moment the archer was simply hanging on tight, content to let his mount do the job. The fool.

The gryphon was in an awkward position at the moment. In a few seconds once it was dropping quickly it would be able to shift its wings to skillfully change direction, allowing it to dodge attacks, but at the moment it was just beginning its controlled fall, and the only way it could get out of the way of an attack was by flapping hard. Even then it would take too long to change direction. Nex stabilized his levitation spell against the coming recoil of hurling two pounds of steel as hard as he could, setting his aim and concentrating. His entire body folded in on itself as he threw, coiling like a spring, and the torpedo sang softly as it flew end over end towards his target.

The gryphon saw the coming attack and opened its beak wide to scream, the noise harsh and primal. The torpedo, enchanted for greater impact, caught it right in its open beak and took the top of its head clean off. The rider on its back gave a cry of horror as the controlled dive became a headlong fall, and then both disappeared from sight between the buildings below and landed with a _thump _that was jarring in its finality.

Nex breathed out slowly in relief. He hadn't come into the city intending on wanton bloodshed. It would have been far better if he could have simply taken the tome and left without encountering anyone.

Oh well. It couldn't be helped now. He was floating over the rooftops of the large shops fronting the main avenue at the moment, and the thought of dropping onto one of them and making his way out of the city was a major temptation. Then he saw the slightest flicker of movement from the shadow of a chimney, and made out the outline of a thief catcher crouched there, watching him. Where there was one there might be others, and better hidden, and they were likely hoping he'd drop within reach of their weapons so they could punish him for the murder they'd just witnessed.

Nex watched the figure warily as he drifted by, prepared to shield himself if the man flung a weapon at him. But the thief catcher made no move and soon he was over the avenue, less than twenty feet from the ground now.

His drifting would eventually carry him into the side of one of the shops at the far end of the avenue, so he released the spell, tucked himself into a neat flip, and landed on one knee with his fist pressed into the ground to absorb some of the impact.

Immediately he threw himself into a roll, ducking into the shadows beneath the wall and looking around warily to see if anyone was coming at him. Across the way he saw a shadow making its way nimbly as a cat down the wall of a three-storey building, and he turned and fled before the thief catcher could reach the ground and pursue him. He wasn't sure exactly where to go from here, but after his little aerial battle trying to make his way over the city walls or through the gate was a sure way to get an arrow through his back.

He wondered where that gryphon had come from.

. . . . .

Puros watched the slain gryphon fall, its rider's scream cut short with terrible finality. "Light curse you," he whispered at the floating shape which fell out of sight. Then he broke into a sprint once more, hammer clutched with painful tightness in both hands. He turned the corner onto Trade District's main avenue and skidded to a halt. There was no sign of any furtive figure making its way towards the gates.

Nex had been drifting east, and there was no reason to think he'd double back now. Which meant that his choice of exits were very limited. The sentries along the walls had been alerted, and Puros had a hard time believing the boy would be stupid enough to try to climb the east wall with arrows raining down around him. There was, however, another way out of the walls. If Nex was smart enough to notice where the gryphon had come from, he might make for the cavernous roost and the unguarded exit it offered.

Puros broke into a run once more, determined to bring justice to the boy. For the sake of the fallen gryphon rider and all the others he'd slain tonight.

. . . . .

As Nex had suspected, butting against the inner wall of the city was a massive building with a sign over it reading "Wildhammer Aviators: Messages, Scouting, Transportation."

He recalled glancing back while he was leaving the city and seeing a cavernous opening in the inner wall, and the hint of a wing flapping behind a pillar. That was obviously where the gryphons roosted and the egress from which they took off. And having that opening in the wall didn't weaken Stormwind's defenses in the slightest, since below that cavern stretched the massive moat where the canals let out, with only the one bridge leading across it to the shorter but still solid outer wall with its parapets.

Funny thing about defenses, though. Usually they were designed to keep people _out_. Coming from the other way, that cavernous opening in the inner wall would provide a perfect escape route for him. He could get above the opening and work his way along the inner wall to where it connected with the eastern wall, then climb over that and drop down into the forest. In less than ten minutes he could put Stormwind behind him, and no one would have the faintest idea where he'd gone.

He kept to the shadows as he approached the massive building. The exterior of it was lit with torches, leading up to a massive wooden door. The door was large enough to allow a wagon-or a gryphon-to pass through, which was a good sign. It meant the door probably opened directly into the roost itself, and he wouldn't need to negotiate his way through a maze of hallways or anything.

Since the gryphons would be needed for messages the roost had to be accessible at all hours, which meant the door was probably unlocked. If he had to he could knock, and as a last resort knock the door down, but for the moment there was no need to be pessimistic. He pulled the second torpedo out of his belt pouch and made his way forward through the torchlight. Outwardly confident, but secretly expecting at any moment to hear a shout, or for that matter feel a crossbow bolt between his shoulders. But nothing happened as he mounted the ramp that led up to the door. When he tried the latch it opened freely under his hand, and he pushed the heavy door open a crack and slipped inside, shutting it behind him.

In the gloom a figure appeared, hurrying towards him. "Is there a message that-"

Nex surged forward and swung the torpedo like a club at the boy's head. It was a delicate task, pulling the blow enough to simply knock the lad out; with two pounds of steel it wouldn't take much to crush his skull, and Nex wanted to avoid that. The boy gave a strangled grunt as the blow landed, tumbling bonelessly to the ground. Nex crouched down near the boy's head and checked for a pulse. He found one, and it seemed steady enough. Then he stood, torpedo ready, and looked around.

As he'd expected, he was in a corridor of stalls that opened out at the end into the cavernous roost. Along the roost's back wall straw had been thickly strewn, and dozens of gryphons brooded in little beds pressed into the straw. Most had their heads tucked under one wing, sleeping, but a few had heard the noise and were watching him, black eyes gleaming in the moonlight streaming in through the cavernous opening.

He'd been right there as well. The room had three walls, and the fourth was completely open to the outside, the open expanse broken only by a few pillars supporting the roof.

A rustling in the stall to his right caught his attention, and a figure stumbled out of it, rubbing at his eyes. "'lo?" the sleepy dwarf mumbled at him. One of the Wildhammers, he presumed. Nex stepped forward and swung the torpedo, knocking him out as well. The dwarf's head proved tougher than the human's, and it took another, sturdier swing to do the job.

"Durvos?" another dwarf called from the stall across the way. "What're ye about?" Following the shout Nex heard more rustlings and calls from the other stalls, and he sighed.

They just refused to let his escape go smoothly.

A minute later the handlers were all sleeping peacefully again. Their awakenings might be somewhat unpleasant, but it was their own fault for being so vigilant. Nex moved out into the cavern.

At first he kept a wary eye on the gryphons. Ranking beasts by order of how dangerous they were was generally fairly easy, and gryphons were pretty high on that list; between razor sharp beaks and lion's feet with sharp claws, not to mention their sheer size, they could provide an unpleasant challenge if they decided to attack. He was relieved to find, after a brief inspection, that each gryphon had a leg chained to the back wall, preventing them from moving more than eight feet or so. That left him plenty of room to slip by them.

Unless...

Now there was a thought. Why go to the trouble of running away with pursuit hot on his heels when he could fly off on a gryphon and be long gone by the time anyone thought to follow? That was, of course, assuming a gryphon would let him. He decided to test it by edging as close as he could to one of the gryphons that was awake.

It didn't take long to realize the plan was a foolish one; he was barely out of range of the gryphon's chain when it became apparent the beast was having nothing to do with him. It raised its wings for balance and hissed through a razor-sharp beak.

Well shit. Maybe his first idea of climbing along the wall and escaping was the one to go with after all. There was still one thing he could try, however. Gathering what little of his power remained, including that which he'd pulled from the shadows as he'd made his way here, he probed at the beast's mind. Animals were generally much harder to soothe and control than humans. Particularly wild ones. But even a tame gryphon such as this one had daunting mental defenses, and wasn't about to allow its emotions to be toyed with. To control it was even harder, since he didn't have a gryphon's mind and so wouldn't even know where to begin breaching its defenses. Sentient beasts such as dragons and dragonkin were another matter entirely, but this gryphon was obviously too tough a nut to crack in his current state.

So much for that notion.

He was just turning towards the cavernous opening, staggering slightly as he did so from the effort of even something so simple as probing the gryphon's mind, when he caught a flash of movement from the corner of his eye.

Acting purely on instinct he whirled and flung the torpedo in his hand as hard as he could. There was a deafening _clang_ as the heavy missile struck an even heavier warhammer flying towards him, sending both weapons flying wide out of the cavern's opening to land with two distinct splashes in the moat below.

A figure emerged from the stalls at the cavern's entryway, but even before it did Nex recognized it as the paladin he'd encountered in the Plaguelands, and who had since signed his name on a decree evicting Nex from the city. "Well met again, paladin," he said calmly. "Come to see me off?"

Puros snarled deep in his throat. "You're not going anywhere, murderer." At first glance that did indeed seem to be the truth. Puros was blocking the doorway out of here, and quickly making his way forward to block the cavern's opening and corner Nex at the back of the room.

Nex had to admit that the paladin looked much larger even in this cavernous space than he had out in the Plaguelands, standing over the corpse of a monstrous dreadlord. Rachondimus had towered over both of them, making both seem smaller. But Puros stood over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and thick muscles, appearing all the larger for the plate armor he wore. And while the paladin had foolishly lost his weapon and Nex now held two of his heavy-bladed daggers in his hands, the man still had his shield. And for a man with a warrior's strength the shield was still a daunting weapon.

To make matters worse Nex was exhausted, at the end of his strength, and Puros appeared rested and practically glowing with the cursed Light.

Uncomfortably aware of the gryphon at his back, Nex edged sideways until the far wall of the room was behind him. He sincerely hoped Puros would charge, possibly providing some opening through which he could slip and escape. But Puros was no fool, and he continued edging forward carefully, on the balls of his feet prepared for any move Nex might make.

"You know all this could have been prevented," Nex said as the paladin continued edging forward. "As a scion of Aran I could have claimed to want my prize for its historical value to my family, and no one would have looked twice at me purchasing it. But no, you had to kick me from the city, rob me of my family's remaining wealth, and brand me an outcast and a criminal."

"I did none of those things," Puros snarled. "And I'll not let you excuse yourself for the murders you've committed." He was close enough now that the corridor between him and the gryphon ready to strike was too narrow for Nex to get through, and the paladin began sliding over to better cut off any escape by way of the cavern opening. Perfect.

Nex sidled to the right slightly, until Puros was directly between him and the edge, ten feet away from the drop into the moat below. He gripped his stolen wand carefully, still hidden beneath his cloak. He had no idea how to use the artifact, but feeding power through it generally worked for just about any of these types of devices on the most basic level. He didn't have much, but hopefully the wand wouldn't need much. "Oh I wouldn't dream of it," he said calmly. Then he raised his wand, summoned the last of his power, and fed it through the powerful artifact.

The blast caught Puros completely off guard, knocking him back a full five feet through the air before he hit the ground and bounced, flipping, through the cavern opening above the moat. Nex heard a shouted curse, cut off by a loud splash.

Panting with exertion, he made his way to the edge of the cavern and looked down, balancing on one of the pillars that supported the roof. He could see a ring of frothing water down below where the paladin struggled to stay afloat.

Interesting. In the mage's hands the wand had paralyzed Nex, his muscles severely damaged and agonizing pain washing through his entire body. That Puros could still move enough to stay afloat after a fashion was either a testament to the man's incredible resilience, or to Nex's complete ineptitude with the wand. Either way, he suspected that was the last he'd see of Puros Lightfinder; strong as the man might be, no one could swim for long with eighty pounds of plate armor weighing him down.

For a moment he hesitated over the lip of the alcove, watching the man thrash in the water. He felt a surprising amount of pity for the paladin, though it had been Puros who'd first attacked. It even crossed his mind that he might cast a levitation spell on him, giving him a chance to survive until help arrived.

Surprise at his foolishness was quickly followed by disgust, however. If he aided Puros it would just give the paladin that much better a chance of pursuing and catching him. He turned away quickly, nimble fingers and booted toes searching the stone wall at the edge of the alcove until he found a suitable hold. With all his concentration on the climb ahead, he pushed the splashes coming from below out of his mind. It became increasingly more difficult to do so, however, because in spite of his prediction that Puros would quickly drown, the noise of his attempts to swim continued all the while Nex was climbing, until he finally reached the east wall, gathered enough power to levitate the short distance to the ground below, and leapt off.

. . . . .

Puros had been struck in the chest by warhammers plenty of times. During training, with half-weight hammers and wearing plate, it was easy to shrug the blow off. Even sparring more seriously against his brothers with their Light-blessed warhammers, the blows were jarring but as long as his breastplate held firm they weren't bad.

Whatever the boy had hit him with, however, had been as solid as any blow he'd ever received from Shadowbreaker or Rall. For a moment he was stunned, and then he was spinning, hitting the tepid water oddly and his helmet wrenching to the side. He kicked desperately towards what he hoped was the surface, mouth and nostrils filled with the stink of canal leavings. After a few seconds of thrashing he realized he wasn't going to find it this way, and he turned all his attention to removing his helmet.

It was sort of the point of plate armor that it be difficult to remove, considering that it was expected to withstand devastating blows. If a helmet could be knocked loose by any old swing it would be fairly useless, and so most helmets were riveted to the breastplate. The rivets weren't too hard to remove, assuming of course you weren't doing it ten feet underwater with your lungs starting to burst and your helmet knocked askew. Praying to the Light for strength he heaved at the helmet, hoping to simply tear the rivets. It was a slim hope, but he was desperate.

The Light must have heard his pleas, however, because on the third attempt the helmet wrenched free, a broken rivet tearing at his cheek as he yanked it off and tossed it aside. By that time he was fighting to keep from inhaling water, and about when he let go of the helmet his feet touched bottom.

Shit.

It took nearly as much effort to stay calm as it did to keep from inhaling, but somehow he managed it. With controlled movements he went into a crouch, then pushed off with all his strength, kicking and thrashing straight upwards towards the air he so desperately needed. He broke the surface with his forehead, and before his mouth cleared the water he was breathing in, sucking down a lungful of canal shit.

To this day Puros couldn't have told anyone how he managed to stay afloat while coughing up the water he'd breathed in long enough to draw in a short breath of clean air. Then he was under again, fighting his way back to the surface. He'd fought a lot of desperate battles against tireless foes, but none had ever wearied him as much as that constant struggle to stay up long enough to breathe, with seventy-five pounds of armor-minus the helm-pulling him down.

It seemed like he swam for hours, each minute more desperate than the last, until finally even his great strength gave out, and his attempts no longer pushed him up to the surface. He felt himself sinking, hands outstretched towards the surface as if in one final supplication towards the light. His vision was starting to dim, and he was once more having trouble preventing his lungs from sucking in water.

At about the time he took his first breath of water he felt hands on him, and a tugging at his armor. Then his breastplate fell away, leaving him feeling lighter than he'd ever felt before. In surprisingly short time the ties of his legplates and greaves were cut as well, and then he was being dragged to the surface. He breached the surface and coughed water, trying to breathe in again but his lungs were still flooded.

Without the slightest hesitation his rescuer slammed a fist into his gut, and he vomited up the rest of the water. Then he heaved for a few seconds more, unable to draw in the breath he so desperately needed. Warm light enveloped him, easing some of his pain and desperation, and at last he was able to suck in his first breath in what could easily have been five minutes.

He slumped into the water, held up solely by his rescuer. He was too weak to do anything but float, panting in the glorious air with constant gratitude to the Light. After a few moments he felt his rescuer's arm around his chest, and then he felt himself being dragged. He peered forward and saw a mud bank running along the lip of the outer wall. His rescuer was making for it.

Puros kicked weakly for the refuge, doing his best to help in spite of his condition. Possibly his thrashing ended up being more of a hindrance than a help, but his rescuer was a strong swimmer, and somehow they made it to the lip beneath the wall in good time. Puros sprawled along it, panting. He could have kissed the ground, muddy and stinking as it was. "Thank you," he panted into the mud, scrabbling a gauntleted fist along the ground until he caught at his rescuer's sleeve. He gripped it weakly. "Thank you."

A voice that was grim enough for the situation, but still held a trace of amusement, replied. "Anything for the lad who once tried to jump me in the yard after I gave him a good walloping."

The lad...with a groan of effort Puros craned his head around and looked up at his rescuer, who was leaning over him attempting to draw off his waterlogged tabard. His jaw dropped.

The man who'd drawn him from the filthy moat, dressed in all his finery, was none other than the Highlord Bolvar Fordragon, right hand of the king.

"Highlord!" he gasped. He paused to cough a last bit of water out of his lungs, and by the time he was finished Bolvar had his tabard off and was working on his boots. "How did you know-" he cut off, face reddening. "That is, what brought you to the aviary at just the right moment?"

"Easy lad," the former paladin said in a calming tone. "You've been thrashing in this muck for a long while, and drowning long enough besides. Rest for a moment before you start worrying about the world again."

Puros closed his eyes, still panting, willing the Light to aid his strength in returning. As he lay there and Fordragon drew off his sodden clothes, the Highlord began speaking grimly.

"I was at the Slaughtered Lamb, taking in the devastation, when a call for help drew me to the mage tower. It appears an item of great value has been stolen by this scoundrel you were chasing. I didn't know where he had gone, or you had. It was only lucky chance that I was coming here to see a message sent to the remnants of the wizards of Dalaran about the theft. Lucky chance that I found the gryphon keeper's apprentices sleeping like babies with lumps on their heads, and heard the last plop as your thrashing stilled and you began sinking below the water."

Puros blinked a few times, trying to focus on Fordragon's words. "A...theft?" he finally said. "All of this chaos, all of this death, so the bastard could steal something from the mages?"

"Something of great value," Bolvar said again, voice grave. "The mages are far more disturbed about its disappearance than they would be over any minor trinket or arcane relic. I fear the trouble has only begun, lad. And somehow you ended up in the middle of it." There was a squeak of wet clothes stretching as the Highlord stood. "Once you're able to walk somewhat we had best make our way to the mage tower. It seems you know something of this thief, and we're going to need your help in catching him."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Sought

Nex dropped to his knees, gasping, barely out of sight of Stormwind's walls. Now this was something new.

Generally when he consumed shadows the impact it had on his body was minimal. He eventually reached a point, usually about once a month unless he was casting spells quite a lot, at which the exhaustion of his mind and body were so encompassing that he literally blacked out and fell into horrible dreams. Never before had he reached the point where blackout became necessary and failed to do so for so long. But now his attempts to draw shadows were manifesting as physical pain, and not trivial pain either.

With a quiet groan he sank flat on his face, fighting with the pain. Though he was living, he'd long used magic to power his actions and keep his body functional, much as the undead did. It was a far more efficient and simple practice than having to eat, drink, and sleep all the time, and for him the amount of power required as trivial. And then again, there was also the fact that he would have long ago starved to death in Lynda's dungeon if he'd tried to remain alive through eating.

But now he was faced with a conundrum. He couldn't draw shadows for much longer, because every attempt to do so became more painful than the last. He couldn't sink into his regenerative trance either, because by the time he'd recovered enough to continue, which usually took at least an hour, his pursuit would have caught up with him long before. If he woke up it would be in chains, and more likely he wouldn't wake at all.

He had never reached this point before. While it was becoming harder and harder to remain conscious he was able to do it, but now a very real possibility was presenting itself; if he couldn't draw shadows, and he required magic to maintain his body, to fail to fall into the trance might actually kill him.

Without the magic his body felt deathly weak, and he was barely drawing enough power in to keep breathing. It was that breathing, panting really, that finally presented himself with a solution. Every time he breathed in he caught the smell of rotting vegetation.

He shifted his head enough to look over towards the trunk of the tree he'd collapsed beneath and saw the short grass was dotted with apples which had ripened and fallen, and were now soft and mushy in the early stages of rot. He reached out, grabbed the closest one, and devoured it. It didn't help, but then again he seemed to recall, from events in the distant past, that the process of eating was so inefficient it took a while to happen. He didn't have much time, but he had a few minutes. With any luck that was all it would take to show some beneficial effect. He scrabbled around until he had an armful of apples and began eating them.

Then, to get into the spirit of the thing, he crawled to a nearby brook, barely a trickle, and drank deep. That seemed to help _much_ more, and it occurred to him that from what he knew of people the need to drink was much greater than the need to eat, and thirst ended up being fatal far sooner than starvation.

His brief foray into the world of sustenance was abruptly cut short by a clanger in the distance. The gate opening. He could hear the clatter of hooves on cobblestones and the jingle of harness, and not too long afterwards loud crashes that indicated his pursuers were not content to keep their search along just the roads.

Nex sighed, pushed to his feet, and began lurching in the opposite direction of the noises. He still felt desperately weak and he couldn't draw shadows without pain, and likely wouldn't be able to until he'd had a chance to enter his regenerative trance. But he could move, and that wasn't nothing.

He couldn't move fast, and his pursuit could. But they didn't know where he was, so he had that much of an edge on them. He just had to keep that edge by making as few tracks as possible and getting as far away from Stormwind as he could in the few hours he had before Stormrage's ultimatum came due.

So he gritted his teeth and set his concentration to doing just that.

. . . . .

Though they didn't come in sight of the Slaughtered Lamb, a sullen glow still shone over the rooftops from the fires that had yet to be put out, and the air was thick and livid with smoke.

Fordragon glanced up at the glow and spat off to the side, a surprisingly crude gesture for a man of his stature. "Damn warlocks fomenting trouble in my city. It was bad enough having to deal with the stonemasons refusing to accept the pay we've given them. Some of them have even turned militant over the issue."

Puros blinked. "The stonemasons?" he repeated. "What's all this about?"

The Highlord glanced at him, expression tight. "Nothing you need concern yourself with at the moment, lad. They remain a minor irritation, and I've entered into negotiations with their leader to end the trouble." He pointed at the mage tower. "This current problem is enough concern for any man."

"As you say, Highlord," Puros said, though he felt troubled. Gold had been in short supply during the early days of Stormwind's reconstruction, and even now the city finances were grim. But at the same time the Stonemasons Guild had done more work in rebuilding the city than anyone else, and had often worked at reduced prices or even for free. It was almost entirely due to Guild members working off-hours that the Cathedral of Light was the beautiful and inspiring place it was. That they should suddenly be quibbling about pay now seemed out of character.

Puros pushed it out of his mind, however, as they reached the top of the ramp leading into the mage tower and found the entry room empty. Fordragon seemed to sense his confusion. "Many of the mages have teleported to outlying mage towers and major cities in the region. It's our hope the thief won't get far, but if he does the mages intend to ensure that he finds no place of refuge anywhere in the Eastern Kingdoms. Even among the neutral factions, if they can manage it."

They made their way up to the large portal that was the real entrance into the mage tower and passed through, encountering no defensive wards. "I believe the thief destroyed them," Fordragon explained.

They paused on the other side of the portal, taking in the long room with its dozen or more portals. "Do you happen to know where we go from here?" Puros asked.

Fordragon shrugged, but before he could answer a pretty young woman in apprentice robes burst from a portal to their left. As soon as she caught sight of them she brightened. "Good, you've arrived!" she said. She beckoned urgently. "Come, the Stormwind Mage's Council is waiting."

Puros exchanged a glance with Fordragon, and then the two hurried to follow the girl through the portal and into a long corridor. Almost as soon as they were through they stopped, because the apprentice was opening a door on the left side of the corridor just a few feet in front of them. "This way, my Lords," she said, and ushered them through, following behind. "I've brought the paladins, Masters," she said.

The room they'd been ushered into wasn't as large as Puros had expected. Most of it was taken up by a large oak table in the center surrounded by comfortable-looking chairs, with plainer chairs along a few of the walls. Five of the chairs around the table were occupied by elderly men in fine robes, and one chair was piled with cushions which propped up a gnome.

A portly, red-faced human with graying hair and a bulbous nose was pacing around the table when they entered, and he immediately turned to them, looking displeased. "About time you arrived," he snapped. "What did you have to do, fish him from the bottom of an ale tankard?"

Bolvar's lips turned down slightly. "From the moat, in fact. But what matters is that we are here now, and as we are doing you a favor you might at least be civil." The man's face reddened further, but he showed no hint of apologizing. The Highlord motioned to him as he turned to Puros. "Lord Lightfinder, allow me to introduce you to Archmage Korack Starworth, one of the foremost mages in Stormwind and a former member of the largely extinct Kirin Tor. It was from him that the object was stolen, and so I will leave this matter in his hands."

"Lord Puros," the archmage said stiffly. He remembered his manners enough to step forward and shake Puros's hand, "the tower is grateful for the assistance the Order of Turalyon has seen fit to offer." The apprentice bowed and started to leave, and Korack turned to her. "Where are you going, apprentice?" he demanded curtly.

The girl flushed. "I was returning to my duties, Archmage," she mumbled.

"Really?" Korack ushered her back into the room, manhandling her in an overly familiar fashion that the girl was obviously uncomfortable with. "But you haven't been introduced yet." He turned her around and motioned to Puros. "Lord Lightfinder, Highlord Fordragon. Allow me to introduce Avelya..." he trailed off, "have you selected a surname yet, apprentice?"

Avelya blushed brighter red. "Netherscream, Archmage," she said reluctantly.

"Netherscream, then. Avelya here, though only a first year apprentice, already has the skill to create long distance teleportation matrices. She should be out spreading the word on our thief. But instead she is here, performing errands a servant could do. Would you like to know why?" Puros said nothing, uncomfortable at the archmage's vindictive tone. "Avelya, would you like to tell them?" The girl shook her head, scarlet with mortification. "Very well then, I will. Mistress Netherscream here was the first mage to fall victim to our thief. After he drained her of all her mana and tore down her mental defenses, apparently without breaking a sweat, he interrogated her as to the location of the item he was after. This, also, didn't seem be a challenge for him. But we'll get to that later."

Puros cleared his throat. "I know something of the thief. He is very powerful, and resourceful as well. Your apprentice should not feel too ashamed at having been caught unawares, and in truth I am merely grateful she is alive to tell her tale." The apprentice shot a grateful look his way before once again turning her eyes to the floor.

Korack sniffed, clearly if not openly disagreeing. "She's not my apprentice," he said in a tone thick with disdain.

"No, she's mine," the gnome in fine robes who was sitting at the table said, standing up atop his cushions. "Come now, Starworth. You've chastised my apprentice, and more than she deserved. Let's be on to more important matters," the gnome turned to Avelya. "Since you've played a part in this, apprentice, it's only fair you be allowed to hear more of it. Do find a corner and keep quiet." The apprentice scurried to the corner farthest from the head of the table and found a chair there, sitting with her legs tightly crossed and her eyes on her lap. Puros could almost see her ears twitching, however.

The archmage sniffed again, then motioned to the gnome wizard at his side. "Let us continue, then. Allow me to introduce my overly forgiving associate, Perival Manaspark. Perival is keeper of the sensory wards around Stormwind's perimeter and one of the mage tower's foremost divination experts. He too has a role in this, but first I should tell you that this matter is more grave than we'd thought when we sent for aid."

Fordragon blinked. "More grave? That hardly seems possible."

The archmage wrung his hands. "Oh, but I assure you it is. But I had best start from the beginning. Please sit, all of you." Puros took a chair across the table from the cluster of mages, Bolvar sitting beside him, and Korack moved to the front of the table and began. "It began, of course, when I returned from the slaughter at the, ahem, Slaughtered Lamb. I was sick at heart from the carnage, and wanted only to find my bed, but what I found instead was my former apprentice Elara Frostheart. A cold woman, and I mean no pun by that, but a powerful mage in her own right. She was lying in a pool of her own blood not far from my door, and I could see the wards I'd placed there had been expertly tampered with. Had she not been interrupted in restoring them, I might never have noticed."

The archmage's face hardened. "Though she became the victim, I have little pity for Elara. It was obvious she'd planned to use the confusion to steal from me, only to encounter another thief with the same goals. However I was not aware of any of this at the time, as I was so focused on seeing her body properly dealt with that I did not return to my chambers. Had I done so sooner perhaps we could have caught the thief before he or she fled. But in any case when I did enter my chambers I noticed immediately that an item of great value, a wand known as the Shard of Asteros, had been stolen from its case. I had considered this my most valuable possession, a relic of Archmage Antonidus whose full potential I had still yet to explore. It was this I set my associates and the city guard, as well as your worthy self Highlord," this with a bow to Fordragon, "to finding and retrieving."

Puros grimaced and rubbed at his chest, which still ached from the blast he'd received. "I believe I've encountered the wand already. I had assumed its thief spent and exhausted, and the blast caught me completely off guard."

Korack looked at him gravely. "You should be grateful the thief knew little of its capabilities, my Lord, or you may not have survived the encounter." He straightened. "Returning to my tale. Unfortunately I once again overlooked something important. It was only when I returned to my chamber to begin divining the location of the Shard of Asteros that I noticed a tome was missing. I had not esteemed it valuable, more a memento of a powerful figure than an object of power in its own right." Korack smiled tersely. "I suppose there is something to the saying 'if you want to know which of your possessions is most valuable, see what gets stolen first.' I am certain Elara's target was indeed the wand, but whoever slew her was interested in this tome, and only took the wand as a, ah, token, I suppose. At least, from Mistress Netherscream's tale that is the conclusion I draw. My gnome companion's account only serves to confirm my suspicions." The archmage turned to the little gnome. "Manaspark?"

"Ah, yes." The mage stood and, to make himself more visible, hopped up on the table. "I am not embarrassed to admit that I keep the sentry wards surrounding Stormwind. It is not an idle boast that if anyone, _anyone_ uses magic to communicate or spy within ten miles of the city I will know of it. And, late yesterday afternoon, someone did just that." The gnome grimaced. "Someone, shall we say, who is _very_ well known. None other than Illidan Stormrage himself!"

Fordragon blinked. "Illidan? What possible interest could he have in the Eastern Kingdoms?"

"No interest at all," Korack said, resting a hand on Perival's shoulder to dismiss him back to his seat, "except in the tome that was stolen from me. As I said it seemed little more than a curio, a memento, but now that it has been taken, and by a figure such as Stormrage, I am sure it is far more."

"There's no need to be coy," Fordragon said, somewhat irritably. "What is this tome he's had one of his agents steal?"

The archmage took a deep breath. "The Journal of Aegwynn. I have perused the tome a dozen times and found nothing of interest in it. It does, however, speak of the Last Guardian's battle with the Demon Lord Sargeras's avatar in the frozen wastes of Northrend. And it contains information that few outside the Council of Tirisfal are privy to. That information is, I am certain, why the journal was stolen."

Korack looked around the room, not just at the two paladins but at his associates as well. "You see, after Aegwynn slew the demon lord's avatar she grew fearful, for even a slain avatar of the demon lord possessed vast power. It was her fear that an evil entity would seek to possess that power for himself, so she buried the corpse within the high elf ruins at the bottom of the sea, beneath the Maelstrom. Not only did she bury it, but she placed powerful wards and protections over it. Though I found no indications of it in the journal, my fear is that the tome holds information on how to find the tomb, bypass the wards, and claim the power.

"The orc warlock Gul'dan tried to do just that during the Second War. We should be grateful for it, too, because Gul'dan took the bulk of the Stormreaver and Twilight's Hammer clans, the majority of the orcish horde's warlocks and necrolytes, and selfishly went haring off after the Tomb of Sargeras on the very eve of Doomhammer's attack on Lordaeron's capital. Had he not done so we might not be here to recount this history."

Fordragon stirred. "I was aware the Stormreavers and Twilight's Hammers had abandoned their encampments, but I'd not heard where they went before this."

"Now you know," Korack said grimly. "And what the magical might of the orcish horde couldn't manage during the Second War, that being to penetrate Aegwynn's defenses and steal Sargeras's power, I fear Illidan may be able to manage with the journal he has stolen. If Illidan became a power the entire world need fear because he consumed an artifact such as the Skull of Gul'dan, should he obtain the power of Sargeras himself it may well spell the doom of Azeroth."

. . . . .

A deep silence fell after that proclamation, and then Korack shook his head with a sigh. "That is where you come in, worthy paladins. Lord Lightfinder, Highlord Fordragon assures me that having retired from the Order of Uther, he can no longer speak for your order. So I must ask you if you would gather a contingent of your paladins and track this thief who has stolen the journal. My companion, Perival Manaspark, will guide you. He has already locked onto the arcane residue of the Shard of Asteros and is prepared to track it."

"I would be glad to aid in any way I could," Puros said. "But if I may ask, why the Order of Turalyon? I would have thought the mages would want to see to this personally."

Korack smiled grimly. "Two reasons. The first is that the thief is a user of dark magics. The taint of his spells was thick around the tower's main wards, which he overloaded quite expertly. I believe those who carry the Holy Light will fare better against his vile magic. Then, also, you seem to know the identity of this thief and are familiar with some of his abilities, or so Fordragon tells me."

"I do," Puros admitted. "His name is Nex-thanarak, surname Aran, apparently." Briefly he told of his encounter with the dreadlord Rachondimus in the Plaguelands, and of meeting Nex.

When he was done Fordragon nodded. "Just the sort I would imagine Illidan might recruit for his vile purposes."

Korack cleared his throat impatiently. "Time is of the essence, my Lords. Lord Lightfinder, how soon can you have a contingent of paladins mounted and on the trail of this Nex character?"

Puros stood. "Within the hour, Archmage."

Manaspark leapt to his feet. "Good! I sense that the Shard of Asteros is moving away quickly. If we want to catch it we'll have to hurry!"

"Then make your preparations and meet us at the front gates, mage Manaspark," Puros said, standing and starting for the door. "I will chivvy my brothers to all due haste. Rest assured, we will capture this criminal and recover the artifacts he has stolen. Then he will face justice for the lives he's taken this night."

. . . . .

It took a bit longer than he'd expected to gather up ten of his brothers, disorganized and many still trying to deal with the disaster at the Slaughtered Lamb. It took longer still to find his practice armor, still in use out on the training grounds by young paladins. It didn't fit as well as he would've hoped but it would have to do. He mourned the loss of his warhammer in the moat, but there, too, a spare was found in the Order's storerooms.

Luckily it didn't take much to convince a few of the Church's priests to accompany the expedition. Upon learning whom it was Puros was chasing Benedictus assigned two men from his own parish to Puros's command, and publicly blessed the members of the expedition and invoked the Light to guide and protect them.

The horses and provisions were ready by the time all the other preparations had been made, and a bit more than an hour after he'd left the mage tower he met the mage Perival Manaspark at the front gates, riding a borrowed warhorse and leading his retinue. The mage was mounted atop a bizarre gnomish contraption like a giant chicken. At Puros's doubtful glance Manaspark smiled. "My mechanostrider will run your horses into the ground," he assured them. He hesitated. "Provided it doesn't explode."

A few paladins edged their horses a bit farther from the gnomish device. Puros turned to them, smiling in spite of the grim situation. "All right, men. We're going to keep a steady pace, one that the horses can keep to for a long while. I hope all of you are resigned to doing a bit of walking." There were a few groans; these men had been up most of the night, and the prospect of a long journey didn't appeal to them. "Our quarry has a bit of a lead on us, and from what I know of him it's safe to assume that lead will be hard to lessen. But we're going to make the best time we can, and capture him no matter how long it takes."

Another groan. Puros continued. "Guardsmen and huntsmen from the King's army have already been hunting for him for over an hour, but we have a bit more reliable means of tracking the thief." He pointed at the gnome. "This is Perival Manaspark, and he will be leading us in direct pursuit of our quarry. Master Manaspark, what can you tell us?"

The mage frowned in concentration for a moment. "Still going south and a bit east. You're right that he has a considerable lead on us, but he's not going as fast as I would have expected. It could be his attack on the tower and his escape from the city exhausted him."

Puros shook his head grimly. "Best not to assume any weaknesses in this enemy. If he's going slow he has a reason for it." He flicked his reins, turning his warhorse to face forwards. "We'll start out with a strong pace, but easy on the horses. Five minutes up, five minutes down." Another groan, louder this time. Half time walking and half riding was one of the best ground-eating paces out there, but it was a lot less taxing on the horses at the expense of being more taxing on the riders. "No complaints, lad. We've Justice to pursue this night!" He nudged his horse into a walk, Manaspark maneuvering his mechanostrider to move alongside him, and his men formed up in two lines behind him, showing a good tight formation.

"It is good of you to offer your services in retrieving your friend's stolen items," Puros mentioned after they had traveled for a minute or so.

Perival scowled, a surprisingly bitter expression for one of the usually vague and friendly gnomes. "If I might correct you, Lord Lightfinder. Starworth and I are as far from friends as it is possible to be without, aha, leaving blackened craters as testament to our brief encounters. I am here in service to the mage tower and to Azeroth, in reply to an open attack upon our wards, which I myself had a hand in creating, and in response to a theft from one of my comrades."

"You do not care for the archmage?" Puros said. He chuckled. "To be fair, I didn't find his temperament agreeable either. He certainly showed little forgiveness for a mere apprentice who fared no better than a full mage against the enemy who assailed her."

The gnome's small hands tightened on the controls of his mechanostrider. "He might have been more forgiving had the girl consented to come to his bed. But then again, he didn't seem overly heartbroken about Mistress Frostheart, either."

"What?" Puros was so surprised he nearly jerked the reins. His borrowed warhorse nickered in annoyance and danced a few steps before resuming its pace.

The little mage glanced at him and sighed. "My master always did say I had a loose tongue. An asset in casting spells, if in little else. Well, I've hinted at it so I might as well tell it outright so there's no confusion. Master Starworth has an unpleasant habit of, ahem, wooing the apprentices he takes on. He's done it enough times, now, that it's no secret. And his, ahem, apprentices know what they're getting into when they apprentice under him." The gnome's eyes widened at his own words. "By which I mean under his guidance, that is," he amended hastily.

"And Mistress Netherscream?" Puros said grimly.

"Refused an apprenticeship with the good archmage," Perival said happily. "At which point I offered to sponsor her education myself. There are many things I believe a mage should sacrifice in pursuit of her craft. Time, effort, commitment, and even sleep when necessary. But what Starworth demands of his apprentices isn't one of them. _Should not_ be one of them."

Puros nodded in approval. "And why are you here, instead of the good archmage?"

The little gnome snorted in derision. "One, because I'm more qualified to track the tome and wand. Two, because the thought of facing an enemy that could defeat his former lov-ahem-apprentice Frostheart has to have Starworth wetting himself with fright. You see, rumor has it that our good archmage fled Dalaran _before_ it came under attack by Arthas and his undead. And there is that when Mistress Frostheart broke it off with him they exchanged more than simply harsh words, and the worthy archmage came out poorly in that encounter. Small wonder the woman didn't hesitate to take the opportunity to steal from the man when it presented itself. But in any case, anyone who could kill her could likely kill Starworth as well."

Puros gripped the reins of his horse tightly, bristling with righteous indignation. He had a tendency to become overly angry when confronted with injustice of any sort, and when it was a matter that was none of his business he'd been rebuked for it in the past. "Well then. I believe it might be expedient to confiscate these stolen items once we recover them. In the name of the Church of course. Master Starworth should not object too strenuously, since he couldn't see fit to come himself to reclaim them."

Perival blinked at him in surprise, and then grinned widely. "Why my Lord, that is quite the sensible notion! And hearing it has inflamed my heart with enthusiasm for this venture! Our quarry is still moving slowly; what do you say we pick up the pace a little?"

. . . . .

Nex cut into the pumpkin he'd purloined from the farm behind him with one of his heavy-bladed knives, genuinely anticipating good food. Of course the pleasure of eating was small compensation for the irritation of hunger, but he didn't really have much choice at the moment.

Down the hill from where he sat the crystal clear waters of a lake glittered in gleam of the rising sun. It was a pretty sight, and it would have been prettier still if it didn't mean he had less than six hours before Stormrage's "doom" would fall upon him, at which point he would likely die. With any luck Stormrage would contact him long before then. And with a bit more luck the demonic night elf would summon him away from this hellish pursuit and he could finally black out.

He'd already slain two bloodhounds his pursuers had set after him, and the houndsmaster who'd accompanied them. It hadn't been the easiest fight of his life, but luckily the dogs hadn't shown themselves to be the most savage beasts, and their master had proven to be clumsy and quite too slow to dodge one of his double-pointed knifes, well thrown.

That had been the most immediate of his pursuers, although he still heard the occasional noises from behind that suggested they were still widening their search perimeter. It was quite possible he'd have to move on before completing his lovely pumpkin lunch. South, always south.

He was headed south for a few very good reasons. First, assuming Puros had told others of him, it would be known he came from the Plaguelands. Having completed his errand, it would make sense that he would return to the place from which he came. He was fairly confident the houndsmaster and the two dogs were the only ones who'd caught his scent, so his position was probably still unknown.

Second, south was really the only reasonable way to go if he didn't want to get captured. If he tried to go north he'd either have to climb the mountains behind Stormwind, and more mountains beyond those, and more beyond those, all the while with gryphons circling overhead, or he'd have to take the Redridge path that led up through the Burning Steppes where the Blackrock orcs still stubbornly held on to a few outposts. That trail would almost certainly be closely watched.

If he went east he'd be passing through some very populous lands and then very rough terrain before he finally reached the sea. West there was only the sea, with the jut of land that was Westfall. Logically speaking, the only direction he could go that would afford him easy travel without being openly exposed to any gryphons scouting his location was south into Duskwood, and eventually into either Stranglethorn Vale at the southern tip of the continent, or into Deadwind Pass and the Swamp of Sorrows to the southeast.

The third reason, of course, was that south was his home. He'd traveled those lands extensively, and he knew a few secret paths. He preferred the wildness of Stranglethorn Vale, where it was far more common to meet Gurubashi trolls or various predators than any honest traveler. He enjoyed the dead murk of the Swamp of Sorrows where a few ragged remnants of orcs and ogres were his only neighbors. He disliked the Blasted Lands quite strongly, with the shattered remnant of the Dark Portal brooding in its pit, and the random incursions by demons and the like. Everything about that place offended him, but he'd traveled it all the same in pursuit of demons to slay.

He had high hopes the pursuit would lighten up once he reached Duskwood. It was a fairly rough place, with an ogre mound of its own that Stormwind's expanding patrols had yet to deal with, and more recently hints of sinister enemies of unknown origins that were pushing farmers out of Darkshire's outlying farms, or slaying them if they were slow to leave. Besides, he would put good money on being able to elude even the most skilled hunters once he reached the dark woods on the other side of the Nazferiti river, which was only a few days' travel to the south.

He'd never eaten pumpkin before, so he didn't know if it was one of those fruits where you peeled it. Simply cutting chunks off it and eating them seemed to work all right, and there was a soft goop in the middle studded with seeds that tasted good. He'd just stuffed a handful into his mouth when he felt Stormrage's presence behind him, manifesting far more strongly than before. With a soft curse he lurched to his feet and spun, dropping the pumpkin and knife both.

To his disappointment it was once again simply an image, no matter how strongly manifested. "So you finally showed up. If I believed in gods I would be thanking them right now."

Stormrage glanced at the mutilated pumpkin at his feet with a twist of his lips. "Whatever for? Sunning yourself next to a pretty little lake, eating your fill. I would think you've just returned from a morning's jaunt."

Nex laughed in disbelief. "A jaunt? I've come close to death far more times tonight than I'd ever like to admit. Half of Stormwind's guard and every hunter they have pursue me on land, while a dozen gryphon riders search for my by air and a tower full of pissed off mages are likely following my movements through arcane means. I stop running for five minutes out of sheer necessity, after which I'll likely be running for several days before I can finally shake pursuit."

The corrupted night elf's image looked bored. "Do you know why you're so interested in your problems?"

Once again Nex had to fight down disbelief. "Because they're pressing and the sort that can leave me dead?"

"Perhaps. But the reason _you _are interested in them is because they're _your_ problems. I'm very interested in problems as well, but the ones I'm interested just happen to be mine. And on that note do you have the journal?"

Nex drew it reluctantly out of his cloak and proffered it. The image shimmered, then solidified slightly and took the tome in hand. Obviously a summoning of some sort. There was a flash and a surge of power, and then the tome became as insubstantial as the rest of the image. Stormrage's lip curled. "Blood?"

"It's previous owner was not eager to relinquish it to me." A hunting horn sounded not two hundred yards away, just beyond a slight rise. Nex glanced back at the trees there uneasily. He could hear dogs baying. "If we could hurry this up, Stormrage? The pursuit closes in."

"What's that?" Illidan looked up absently from his greedy perusal of the tome. "Oh." His eyes suddenly sharpened in suspicion. "I sense an object of great power on you. One far more powerful than you're qualified to use."

Nex clutched the wand beneath his cloak protectively. "I'll learn its uses soon enough. In the meantime I stole it fair and square."

"You would not be the first to have stolen it, if it resided in a human mage tower in a human city. Do you even know its name or lineage?"

"I'll learn those soon enough as well."

"You'll learn its name and nothing more. It is called the Shard of Asteros, a relic I knew of old before my imprisonment. It's an heirloom of the Highborne Elves I once called my brothers. That it has survived all this time, carried from Kalimdor and protected by those who came to be called the High Elves, is nothing short of a miracle. But whoever possessed it in the recent past it is owned by the elves, and I have a far better use for it than any fledgling human could find. You had best give it to me; in any case it's likely that such an item can be easily tracked, and are you not whining about enough problems already?"

Nex slid his hand over the smooth crystal. He wasn't strong enough to use it in his current state, but he could feel the latent power of it. "The hell you can have it. So far this little arrangement of ours seems awfully one-sided. You make promises and set me to impossible tasks, while I nearly die performing those tasks and you mock me afterwards. If you're going to rob me every time we meet as well I might as well find a way to break our ties and be on my way."

Stormrage's sneer turned into a snarl. "Oh you're welcome to do so, human. And in three or so hours when my curse falls full on you I'll come loot your corpse of the item you refuse to relinquish, and you can have your freedom and be happy in it."

Agony surged over him as he drew in shadows. "Or I can destroy it right now. Likely the backlash will incinerate this hilltop, and it will certainly kill me. Of course you'll be safe, but any minor inconvenience I can do you will be well worth it. I just wish I'd held onto the book so I could destroy it too."

The green light beneath the night elf's blindfold surged brighter. "You want me to keep my promises in your chosen time, rather than mine?" he hissed. "Very well, then let us have a trade." He produced a small oddly-shaped stone, carved with demonic runes and sigils. With another flash and surge of power the object solidified, a sort of reverse-summon although Nex had no idea how such a thing could be accomplished.

Nex took the artifact warily. "What is this?"

Stormrage smiled, not exactly pleasantly. "A gift for a faithful servant. And the first part of a promise kept. Perhaps it will make you feel better about being denied the Shard of Asteros."

Nex opened his second sight and _looked_ at the object in his hands, and his breath caught. It was a link-stone, such as the highest demons of the Burning Legions used to control their officers. Nex had only ever seen one, and had never touched it. Even Lynda had seemed terrified of it. Its purpose was to bind the creature it was given to to its master's will, letting the demon lord know where his vassal was, roughly what condition he was in, and allowing him to communicate at his whim. But there was more to it than that: the link flowed both ways, and while the vassal became ever more bound to his master, he also gained the ability to draw from his master's power. Up to a point.

Power. He could feel it pulsing in his hands, demanding he connect to it, draw from it. But what part of himself would he be giving up for this?

Stormrage seemed to sense his doubt. "You've already sworn your oath to me. This does nothing more than reinforce it. And you desire power, do you not? You are pursued, you say, by air and by land, all the power of Stormwind hunting for you. And through the tenuous link our shared pact provides I can tell you are at the limits of your strength, ready to enter that trance-like state where you regenerate your power. If you do so now you will surely be captured."

"Yes," Nex said slowly, gazing at the stone as if hypnotized. The link-stone Lynda had possessed had not even been attuned to one of the masters of the Burning Legion, Kil'jaeden or Sargeras or Mannoroth or Tichondrius. But it had been powerful. Powerful and corrupt.

He already wielded demonic powers. What worse could this do than his current abuse of drawing shadows didn't already do?

Stormrage laughed softly. "I see you are still undecided. Perhaps you should hear the most important reason for wielding the stone. The hole I rent in your soul yesterday is your doom, and it will kill you. But it is also your salvation. You had to lose that part of yourself before you could wield this Illidari stone. And when you do, it will fill the place of what you lost."

Nex looked up slowly. "What?" he asked quietly, disbelief warring with outrage in his voice. This was how he was rewarded? _This_ was the price for his continued servitude to the demonic night elf?

"You do not appreciate my gift?" Stormrage asked with a cruel smile. "Perhaps you will in time. But for now I'll take the Shard. A trade, remember?" The demonkind's image turned and faced north, wings stretching out for a moment before tucking back around him. "Of course, if you cannot keep your own promises I could always take it from you."

Nex hesitated, clutching onto both wand and stone tightly. Then, reluctant and more than a little angry, he proffered the artifact. Stormrage summoned it with another surge of power and a pulse of light, and then laughed. "Excellent choice, human. Enjoy my gift and do not lose it, or you will surely die." He toyed with the Shard, looking delighted. "Shake off pursuit and come with all haste to the ruins of Lordaeron City. It is there our mutually beneficial arrangement will continue with your next task."

"That for your task," Nex said, spitting to the side. "I'm headed south with the power of Stormwind behind me, and you want me to turn around and walk right into their arms?"

"I have no doubt you'll manage it, Nothing. Your resourcefulness continues to surprise me." With that his image faded, taking the tome and the wand with it, but leaving the Illidari stone behind.

Nex reluctantly stared down at the stone as the racket behind him drew closer. He knew it was foolish to remain still; noisy as his pursuit was, there had to be thief catchers and hunters rushing ahead of the group, swift and silent and on his trail. He had to go, and go now.

But he was so weary.

The stone pulsed quietly in his hand, corrupt and almost sentient, seeming to laugh at his weakness. He had but to touch the immense power within it and he would be saved. And damned. It was a devious move on Stormrage's part, to give him such a possession now when he needed it most. If he could summon even a portion of his own power the stone would not be so great a temptation, and he would likely have put it aside and possibly never used it.

Or perhaps he would have. It was far more powerful than anything he'd ever encountered before. Perhaps even on a par with the wand he'd just been denied.

The _thrum_ of a loosed arrow gave him but a split second to react, dropping straight down and twisting to provide a narrow profile. He felt the sting as it tugged past his shoulder, and a coarse curse from the hunter that had shot it. Nex whipped out one of his double-pointed knifes and sent it hurtling at the hunter in the trees, and a moment later was rewarded by a sharp cry and a loud crash as the man slumped into the underbrush. He sagged to the ground, even that throw stealing away the last of his strength. In the underbrush there were more crashes as the hunter dealt with his knife, then he caught sight of the man plucking it from his shoulder. Hardly slowed by the tiny missile, the man nocked another arrow to his bowstring and prepared to draw.

"Damnit," Nex snarled. Then he reached into the stone.

. . . . .

"Oh no!" Perival Manaspark squeaked in dismay.

Puros looked up from the corpse of the bloodhound he was inspecting. Its throat had been cut cleanly, and there was no sign of any blood on the ground save that of the slain animal. Close by was another slain dog, and farther back the corpse of their master, dead with half his chest blown out as if he'd been run through with a lance. Whatever the man and his dogs had been attacking, his enemy had been swift and strong. He had no doubt it was Nex's work. "What is it?" he asked the diminutive mage.

"The signal has vanished!"

"What!" Puros looked ahead, straining for any sight of their quarry. "The Shard of Asteros is gone?"

The gnome looked at him in irritation. "Was I tracking any other magical artifact?"

Puros ignored that. "Where's it gone to?"

"I don't know. Far out of range of my ability to track it, that's for sure. I felt a surge of tainted arcane energy just a moment before it disappeared. I fear it's been summoned or teleported away."

Puros swore. "What of the Journal of Aegwynn?"

"Gone as well. Another, smaller surge I failed to notice, I was so intent on the Shard."

"And our quarry? What of the traitor Nex-thanarak?"

Perival gave him a look of frustration. "I wasn't tracking the human, I was tracking the magical artifacts. What do I look like, a woodsman?"

Puros elected to ignore that as well. "Paladins!" he roared. "Full charge, but keep your eye out for any sign of our quarry!" He turned to Perival. "Lead us to where you felt the arcane surge, mage, and quickly!"

Manaspark nodded grimly. "It's not too far," he assured. Then he expertly worked the controls of his mechanostrider and sent it sprinting away, nearly faster than Puros and his men could keep up with their horses at a gallop.

. . . . .

The rush of power made him gasp aloud, even as strength and speed flowed into his limbs and the agony of drawing shadows faded to nothing. His body and mind were still ravaged and in need of rest, and likely the tainted power he drew from the Illidari stone was doing little good for it, but for the moment he ignored all that. He felt invincible.

The hunter finished drawing the bow back and loosed, the arrow streaking straight for Nex's heart. With the power surging through his mind, lighting up every nerve in flashing pulses, it seemed almost trivial to reach out and catch the arrow. The wooden shaft tore into his hand before his grip closed completely, stopping the arrow in midflight, but that pain, too, was nothing.

He dropped the arrow, smiling at the woodsman who'd loosed it. "You picked the wrong time to attack me, friend," he said, fighting the urge to laugh uncontrollably.

The man seemed to feel the same. He dropped his bow and turned to flee, but Nex sent out a ribbon of his power arcing out to connect with his head, flaying at his mind. The man gave a scream, quickly cut out, and collapsed to the ground.

Nex continued to maintain the spell even after he knew the man must be dead, reveling in the power he felt. Compared to what he'd been able to draw before it seemed limitless. Overwhelming.

He'd ever held this much demonic power before; if this was but a portion of the power Stormrage had at his fingertips, then the night elf truly had to be one of the most powerful creatures on Azeroth.

The energy from the stone came into him in a constant flow. Though there was a limit to how much he could tap, as he drained his power with the mind flay spell it slowly, but steadily, filled him anew. Far more quickly than tapping his vitality and consuming shadows, and with nothing close to the impact on his stamina. He basked in it, letting it suffuse him. The taint to it was nothing new, though it had a different feel than what he was accustomed to. But it responded to his will, and as Stormrage had promised it filled that agonizing hole within him that Stormrage himself had torn. He wouldn't die, and now he felt more powerful than he ever had.

He felt wonderful.

It took him a long time to realize that he was on his knees, laughing uncontrollably while green flames danced across his demon skin, immolating him without causing harm. He'd never been able to do that for more than a few seconds, and even with his newfound power it was draining him far more swiftly than the Illidari stone could replenish him. But the feel of it was intoxicating. The power, and using it in ways he'd never been able to before. This was something new.

With some effort of will he cut off the immolating flames and strangled off his laughter, reluctantly acknowledging that he was still being pursued, and not all were as clumsy or weak as the bowman he'd just slain. And for that matter it was certain there were a number of mages among the hunting parties, eager to retrieve the item he'd stolen and avenge the murder of their companion. Openly tapping the power of the stone while magic users were hunting him was as good as sending a stream of fire into the air and shouting "over here everyone!"

So knowing what he had to do, but not liking it one bit, he ceased tapping into the stone. It was like becoming crippled after running a mile without tiring, but he'd tapped enough power that he no longer had to worry about physical fatigue for a long, long while. There would be no need to worry himself with the messy business of eating and eliminating waste.

There was, however, a new element that was much more worrisome than simply the absence of power.

He wanted to draw from the stone once more. Not simply intellectually, but emotionally as well. The hole Stormrage had torn within him was filled simply by the stone's presence, but it ached now that the flow of power had ceased. It felt like hunger had, before he'd learned to completely suppress those pangs and draw his energy from more efficient sources. He craved more of the power he'd drawn, so strongly it felt like a weight on his shoulders.

"False gods spare me," he whispered in horror. He'd never enjoyed being bereft of power, and especially not being stripped of it. It had always been like an itch, not holding as much power as he could. But it had always been just that, and he'd considered himself lucky for it. He'd seen in the eyes of Lynda and some of her acquaintances who occasionally visited that it was not the same for them. The more power they drew from demonic sources the more they hungered to draw, and during their rituals there was a wildness to their actions that bespoke a change, as that hunger was sated and they reveled in feeding it.

Power came at a cost, he knew. To summon greater demons a living creature had to be sacrificed, their soul's energy consumed to feed the ritual. And the more power, the greater the cost.

Still, this was the first time Nex had ever tasted this hunger. He very much feared it was the first sign of magic addiction.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Interlude: The Void

Puros stared down the hillside at Crystal Lake gleaming in the light of the rising sun. It was a peaceful sight, free of any signs of unrest or trouble. Which, unfortunately, meant it was free of any signs of their quarry.

He turned to Perival, who had left his mechanostrider in the shade of the trees behind them and was puttering around the top of the hill, muttering to himself and waving his arms. "Are you sure this is where you sensed it last?"

"I'm very sure!" the gnome said indignantly. "It's not hard to miss it when you feel massive amounts of demonic magic being drawn in and wielded less than a mile away!"

"And you don't sense it now?"

"Not a hint of it." Perival sat down in a huff, cradling his overlarge head in his hands and staring glumly down at the lake. "This Nex fellow is an adept spellcaster, and he obviously seemed to realize we'd be able to track his magical residue. My only question is why he was drawing and using that magic in the first place, out here in the middle of a sunny-"

"My Lord!" a voice from the trees called out. Puros hurried into the woods and eventually came to a clearing between the trees, within sight of the pumpkin farm a ways away. Jarvak was leaning into some underbrush, pulling away a few branches to reveal...

Another body. Puros sighed. "Again he kills," he said sadly. "Do we know him?" The slain man looked to be a tracker, wearing faded greens and browns and carrying a recurve bow with a quiver at his hip. It wasn't hard to see how they could have missed him in their first sweep of the area; mostly in the bush, wearing those clothes, the man was practically invisible.

Jarvak shook his head grimly. "He bears the insignia of a Elwynn woodsman." At Puros's blank look the young paladin motioned to a frayed patch with a silver badger sewn on it. "For valor scouting during the Second or Third wars. They have the King's own pardon to hunt game within Elwynn Forest. Many of them hire on as thief catchers and guides for pay."

Puros turned the man over, and at the sight of his face sucked in his breath. "Holy Light," he breathed. The woodsman's face looked like a melted candle, same as that pickpocket McCoy the guard Taggart had accused Nex of killing. "I believe we can say for a certainty this was done by our thief."

"Sir," Jarvak said, motioning. He'd moved around the bush and was poking through the trees. Puros moved to see what he was looking at. It was a light footprint in the soft loam beneath the trees. Roughly four feet away was another. Jarvak was already moving along the tracks at nearly a run, following with his head low to the ground. After about twenty yards he turned around. "This is a full-out sprint," the young paladin called. "And it continues for quite a ways. No one could maintain such a pace for more than a quarter hour at most."

"I fear Nex can." Puros stood grimly, eyes sweeping across the widely-spaced tracks of their quarry. "Mount up, triple-pace. Let's see if his burst of speed has an end."

"And if it doesn't?" Perival asked.

"Then we change our plans."

Two hours later they were nearly to the Eastvale Logging Camp, their horses winded and every man drooping in his saddle. Puros had been forced to cut their last stint afoot short when the pace of too many of his men flagged. They'd been up for a long while now with no sleep and little rest, and worse still the tracks they followed indicated that Nex's pace hadn't slowed in the slightest in all the distance they'd tracked him.

"This is impossible!" Jarvak abruptly burst out, causing one of the paladins to start in his saddle and nearly slide off. "For the man to have kept up this unholy pace for so long is utterly impossible. We had nearly caught up to him when we started this pursuit, but his lead continues to grow. At this rate he'll be in the Plaguelands while we're still slogging through the damn Wetlands."

"Aye." Puros sighed and drew rein. "We'll halt here, men!" he called. "Pitch tents and turn in. You have four hours before we set out again, and we'll spare the horses even less than we have been."

"You'll kill your mounts before the first day is done," Perival warned, patting his mechanostrider almost smugly.

"No." Puros glanced ahead, to where the forest had been thinned by extensive logging. "If our enemy is tireless we must be as well. We'll swap our horses at Eastvale Logging Camp, and bring two sets of remounts with us when we depart. Iarwain!"

One of the younger paladins stiffened in the midst of unsaddling his horse and clapped his fist to his chest. "My Lord!"

"Make your way back to Stormwind. Inform Highlord Bolvar Fordragon that we are taking the Redridge Path after the thief, and he should concentrate the search in the area east of Eastvale Logging Camp. Best to assume our quarry is heading north."

The youth saluted again. "Aye, my Lord." He hesitated. "Shall I leave now?"

Puros shook his head wearily. "No, not just yet. I'll need to write the Highlord a message, and you should rest your mount and get some food in the few minutes it'll take me." As Iarwain tended to his horse and scavenged among the provisions for a quick meal Puros sat on a tree stump and looked down at his message book with its gnomish pen attached by a fine gold chain.

What could he tell the Highlord? To catch an enemy who ran as swift as a bird in flight they'd need wings themselves, and Stormwind didn't boast enough gryphons to mount a full search party. Puros was certain with his paladins and the aid of the two priests and the mage he'd be able to subdue even a man as powerful as Nex had proven himself to be. But only if they could catch him.

Puros sighed and stood wearily. "Belay that, Iarwain," he said. "Go ahead and get some sleep."

The young paladin looked at him with surprise. "But the message-" he began.

Puros interrupted him gently. "-will be carried by Master Manaspark. And he's going a lot farther than simply back to Stormwind."

The gnome looked at him inquisitively, and Puros pulled him aside to make his request. He knew of one thing that could carry a messenger faster even than a gryphon. Provided it didn't kill the messenger in a colossal wreck.

. . . . .

Nex crested the tall rise he'd been sprinting up and paused, barely breathing hard, to look down at the scene below.

On the far side of the hill, down at the bottom, a wide lake stretched into the distance to the east, reflecting the noon sun with blinding intensity. Near the middle of the lake it narrowed, and a sturdy bridge spanned it to a small town at the far side. The town looked to be a mining town, to judge from the number of bars and taverns and smithies and foundries he could see. But it was still a good distance away, and he only thought that was what he was looking at.

Allowing his steady breathing to fall into a gasping pant, he slowed the flow of magic into his muscles to spare his reserves.

He had a bit of a problem. It wasn't quite as dire as his problems of a few hours ago had been. Those had been the certain death sort. But it was a problem all the same.

He hadn't realized how swiftly a constant sprint would drain his power. The magic he'd drawn from the Illidari stone was considerable, but even it had waned with distressing speed during his unflagging journey. To add to that, Nex feared that the power was unstable, and had a tendency to decay and dissipate over time. If such was the case he would have to draw from the Illidari stone regularly, if not constantly.

There were a couple reasons he didn't want to do that. The first was, of course, that his pursuers might be able to detect such an action, in which case he'd have an arrow pointed at him no matter where he went. While his pursuit remained a handful of idiots with dogs running through the forest, with the odd mounted pursuer, it remained easy enough to stay ahead of them. Should it become an organized thing, with messages going out ahead to the towns he was coming up on, he would soon be hemmed in on all sides with nowhere to run.

The second reason was much simpler. If a mere taste of that power left him thirsting for more, what would it do to him to constantly tap it? He didn't know, and he didn't want to find out. Not until he had to.

Which meant if he wanted to keep running he'd have to draw shadows. And to do that he'd have to rest.

Looking down at the town across the way once more, he couldn't help but notice a wedge of guards riding across the bridge at a canter. They certainly had the look of a search party. And he was willing to bet that it was for him.

"Damn."

He ducked down low in the tall grass, glad he was small enough and light enough that he didn't make a large dent in it. Then, since just about every other direction would lead to being exposed, he made his way down the hill towards the lake, maneuvering through the grass as slowly and carefully as possible.

At the bottom of the hill a cemetery stretched out in front of the lake, the humble final resting place of many of those in the town across the water. Nex wasn't particularly fond of cemeteries, since he'd seen plenty of restless spirits and undead and wasn't eager to see more. This one seemed harmless enough, at least, and the crudely carved headstones and big spreading willows provided good cover. He made his way to a willow whose branches were so low that they touched the ground on all sides but where they hung over the lake, creating a cool, dim little room.

Nex leaned against the willow's trunk, contemplated his exhaustion and rapidly depleting mana stores, and just moments later he was deep in his trance, enduring the painfully vivid memories that made up its dreams.

_. . . . ._

"_What is this?" a sharp voice demanded of him._

_Nex looked up guiltily at the imp glaring at him. He was nearly of a height with the hideous creature now, but that didn't make him any more confident in its presence. "Throwing rocks," he said. He hefted his handful of pebbles and pointed at the chunk of wood across the room. "Look, see?"_

_The imp scowled at him. "Filthy little rat-thing. It learns to throw rocks when it has inherited all of Mistress's power. It can't even kill Ribald."_

_Nex scowled at the imp. "You want me to kill you?" he demanded._

_The imp cackled. "It couldn't if it wanted to. Put down your stupid rocks, Mistress wants you."_

_Mistress. The only time Lynda wanted him was for the Pit. But she always made him come to her rooms. He didn't like her rooms._

_This time apparently he'd been too slow in responding to her summons, because she found him in the corridors before he was halfway up to her rooms on the top ledge of their underground complex. It was always a bad sign when she came to him. And as she glared at him from a dozen feet away, sizing him up and down as if he were a demon she had a mind to torment, he knew she wasn't going to beat him for his tardiness. That was also a bad sign._

"_Look at you," she sneered. "Seven years old and still tiny as a baby. A true creature grows swiftly, so it need not be a target for the fully grown._

_Nex could have argued. He'd read in a naturalist's tome that only animals had the need to grow so quickly, because their parents quickly abandoned them to the mercies of the wild. On the one hand he was human, he knew that because Ribald had told him a long time ago. But on the other hand he must be an animal, because he had no fully grown to protect him. But he didn't say any of that, because talking in front of the Demonologist was always a bad idea. Even when it was to answer a question._

_She sniffed and snapped her fingers imperiously. "Come then, Nothing," she said, and made her way down the steepest corridors to the deepest part of the complex. Nex knew where they were going now, as he'd known as soon as he received the summons. It didn't stop the sick dread building in his stomach._

_He had spent a lot of time down in the Pit, enduring the torments of the demonic household servants. And before he left it every time, Lynda told him that if he wanted it to end faster, he could always kill the imp that tormented him. This was going to be a specially horrible imprisonment in that hole, because he'd already gotten Kurbeble, Fribgiggle, and Bob. The only servant left was Ribald, Lynda's personal imp, and the wizened little monster terrified him._

"_Well?" the Demonologist asked impatiently, standing beside the tiny entrance to the narrow chute. Nex looked at her in mute appeal, too terrified to speak but hoping she'd change her mind for some reason._

_As she cursed and grabbed him by the throat, bodily lifting him and stuffing him into the chute, he had yet another opportunity to reflect on what a useless emotion hope was. Then he was sliding down the greased tunnel, which became almost vertical near the end and impossible to climb. He knew because he'd tried to over and over again._

_He landed in an ungraceful tumble and skinned one of his elbows. As he rose to his feet, cursing in a way only someone taught by imps could, he looked around the twenty-foot-square room._

_It was empty, for the moment._

_Up on the viewing platform, fifteen feet overhead, Lynda stood with her hands on her hips. "You won't be leaving this place until you kill the demon, Nothing. Kill it, or die down here." Then she turned and left the room by the heavy stone door that was the room's only possible exit. Nex had no idea whether that stone door was difficult to move or not, since he'd never been able to climb to the platform and when Lynda brought him up there the door was already open._

_So he wouldn't be leaving, would he? That meant she wanted him to kill Ribald for sure this time. His bladder let go in terror at the thought of the imp's cruel, pinching fingers. Then he stripped out of his pants, since chafing in them for however long he'd be down here wasn't a pleasant thought._

_In the corner of the room was a shallow pool filled with filthy water. Every time he drank from it he got sick, but he drank from it now all the same. Ribald often kept him away from the pool until he was so thirsty he could barely move, and he wanted to get a good big drink before the imp came. Sometimes there was fungus or stringy dried meat on a stone near the pool, or a chunk of moldy cheese if he was lucky, but this time there was nothing. So he wasn't to have much time to try before hunger and weakness made his task impossible. It just meant he'd have to find a way to kill Ribald fast, no matter what it took._

_He picked up the heavy stone his food usually rested on, testing its weight. He didn't think he'd be able to throw it, but maybe if he could manage to pin the imp he could use it to smash its skull in. After a few seconds' thought he set the stone back down again with a sigh. As if he'd be able to pin the imp._

_He straightened and looked around, wondering where the miserable little creature was. Ribald was good at phasing, so good that Nex could never find it with his other eyes. With those eyes could see clearly with his normal eyes shut, even when it was pitch black. It was usually pitch black in the Pit, but this time four torches were lit and burned in each of the four corners, bearing the sickly green glow of magical flames. They were far out of reach, and in a way confusing because he could see with his eyes open but there were deep shadows everywhere. He closed his eyes and his other eyes saw the room clearly, but he would rather look with his normal eyes._

"_Are you coming, Ribald?" he shouted. It was a stupid thing to do, but he was too scared to wait, never knowing if the imp would appear behind him and spear his earlobe with a wicked talon._

_A shimmer in the deepest shadows across the room caught his eye, and he turned and crouched, both hands gripping the big rock even though he knew he wouldn't be able to use it._

_But it wasn't Ribald that appeared. It wasn't...anything. Two bands like bracelets seemed to hover in midair, and as they drifted out into the torchlight the shadows gathered around them until they became a bulbous creature with clawed shadowy hands floating above the floor. The shadows it was formed of twisted and writhed in a sinister way, and after a moment two eyes appeared in the midst of it, like pinpoints of deep, diamond-hard shadow glowing with a light that seemed to suck in the harsh glare of the torches._

_The creature stretched one of its banded arms, the claws extending and forming wicked sharp points that Nex was certain would cut even if they were just made out of shadows._

_He backed away, shaking in terror until his teeth knocked together painfully. The shadowy demon drifted closer, and with a wailing scream Nex leapt over the filthy pool and wormed his way into the tiny hole bored into the rock at the far side of it, where water trickled out through a hole much too small for him to crawl through. He'd tried before. It was only about four feet deep and he reached the back of it all too soon, clawing at the hole and hoping against hope that it would crumble away and make an opening for him to escape through._

_Icy cold flowed over his leg, and a moment later slivers of pain lanced up it, he looked back to see the creature pushed into the hole, one clawed hand outstretched and raking his calf._

_He screamed again, mad with panic, and somehow managed to maneuver around in the tiny hole until his back was pressed to the back wall with his arms and legs held out protectively in front of him. His entire right side had a long gash from his slithering around, and his head hurt from bumping just about every rock in his panic to turn around._

_A low laugh that seemed to come from everywhere rang in his ears. "Hiding, little human? The Mistress says you aren't to hide." Those icy fingers reached for him again, and in desperation Nex summoned what little power he possessed and fed it through, into the shadows in front of him. The shadowy creature gave a hiss and backed away, obviously surprised. "So that's how you want to play?" it snarled in a voice that could have come from a deep cave. "Very well then, hide in your hole. When you're ready to come out for water we'll begin again."_

_Nex shook his head, determined to die of thirst before he let that thing of shadows near him. He huddled as far back into the hole as he could and stared at it warily. It seemed willing to keep its promise, because it didn't move except to stretch its shadowy arms and grasp its claws as if testing them._

_He didn't know how long they waited like that, but his mouth was becoming dry and he was starting to feel sleepy. Lynda always waited until he had been awake for a long time before she put him in the Pit._

_The shadowy creature drifted over to the filthy pool and ran shadowy hands through it, making the water ripple. "How you mortals can stand to imbibe such things is something I will never understand," it rumbled. "But you will become thirsty eventually, and when you do I will show you just how unimaginative imps are in their torments." Nex said nothing, and it turned those infinitely dark eyes on him. "I am Kal'than, voidwalker of the Seventh Plane of the Nether Abyss. My plane is one you mortals could never understand, could never survive in, and yet the Mistress dares call me to this flimsy playground you call reality?" It made a fearsome hissing noise like sand falling into a bottomless pit. "My Master has powers you could never comprehend. It would be trivial for him to devour your Mistress in shadow and flame. She is weak."_

_The shadowy creature began roaming the walls, pausing at the chute and drifting up to the viewing platform and contemplating the stone door. It almost seemed as if it, too, wanted to escape. Finally it returned, reaching into Nex's hole and brushing his hands and feet with those horrible clawed arms, but never actually touching him._

"_He's to do as he wishes," the creature hissed. "The Mistress says he may hide in his little hole until he starves if he so pleases. We're not to come in after him, oh no. But the Mistress isn't so strong as she thinks. Yessss, little mortal, the Mistress had best be smart enough to send me back, or she may learn what Kal'than thinks of her little rules."_

_Nex shrank back deeper into the hole, too frightened to close his eyes, too frightened to relax his limbs held protectively in front of him. He lay there as the voidwalker taunted him, never quite touching him, for what seemed like hours and very well could have been. When he awoke with a start he wasn't aware of having fallen asleep._

_Kal'than drifted over the filthy pool, brushing down into it every now and again and sending ripples shivering to the edges. "Reality should end," it intoned in its vast, unearthly voice. "Reality is foolish. The constraints bind too tight."_

_Nex stared at the water, mouth so dry he had to swallow a few times to get any moisture into it. He was glad he'd had his drink, but he was thirsty now. So thirsty. For a long time he watched the demon teasing him with the water from the pool, and then he must have fallen asleep again. During all the time the voidwalker never stopped its horrible monologue._

_Days passed that way, until Nex was licking at the damp walls of his little hole for what little water he could get. It wasn't enough, and he could feel himself growing weaker and weaker. When it was almost too much effort to raise his head he opened his eyes to see the voidwalker's infinitely shadowed eyes peering at him less than a foot away. "Thirsty, little human?" the voidwalker's sepulchral tones sounded mocking. It made a gushing noise and withdrew until it was standing far enough back that Nex could see it in its entirety, which was apparently what the demon wanted. It laughed a slithery, hollow laugh and spun around slowly, arms outstretched. "Do you think I will tire? Do you think I will grow bored? Do you think I will need to eat, or drink, or sleep?"_

_It laughed again. Then it began doing something strange. Facing the little hole, pinpoint eyes like black diamonds watching him closely, it began waving its arms as if it were pulling the air towards itself. For a moment it looked like that was all it was doing, and then Nex saw the shadows around the room sliding in and gathering at the voidwalker's chest. The shadows that made up the demon's skin gathered up the new shadows and absorbed them, faster and faster. But although the creature seemed to be devouring all the shadows in the room, instead of growing brighter the room grew darker, the shadows deeper._

"_There is no light without shadow," the creature said. "And where there are shadows I will never tire, never weaken, for the shadows are my food and water, my rest and my healing." Its tone grew taunting once more. "What's the matter, little mortal? Don't you know how to consume shadows?"_

_Nex stared at the shadows in his little hole blankly for a moment and then reached out for them as the voidwalker had done. The demon laughed at him. "You waste your time. Your torment will only end in death, for you will never slay me."_

_Nex dropped his head to the stone and everything went dark._

_. . . . ._

"_Shadows. Shadows. Shadows. Shadows. Shadows. Shad..."_

_Nex opened his eyes, too weak to groan at the horrible ache of hunger. Shadows were all around him, and it took him a moment to realize that Kal'than was inside his hole with him, literally occupying the same space in some terrible way._

_The demon laughed. "Do I not look vibrant?" it said, darting out of the hole. "The energy of this place is surprising. Your Mistress will lose control over me very soon. Then we won't need to wait for you to die of thirst."_

_As the voidwalker passed through him Nex felt a tingle, a strange resonance with the magic that was latent within him. That magic was a pitifully small amount, so tiny that Lynda always mocked him for it no matter what he tried to do with it. But now he could feel it, pulsing in time with the demonic essence of the shadowy creature. He looked at the shadows and tried to draw them in, not with any gestures but simply by focusing on that magical core within him and trying to bring the shadows to it. For a moment he felt nothing, and nothing. And then a tiny flicker of something._

_And then nothing._

_Nex's eyes slid shut, but he noticed the voidwalker was no longer laughing. "What was that?" it demanded._

_Nex felt his muscles twitching, trying to move. He didn't know how he did it, but somehow he pushed that tiny amount of magic he possessed into his muscles. Some of the pain faded, and when the magic was completely gone he reached for more._

_And the shadows flowed into him._

"_What are you doing?" Kal'than demanded. Its unearthly voice sounded shaken, almost frightened. "You cannot do that! Pitiful human, stupid foolish mortal, your kind cannot draw power from any source but the ley lines. How dare you even think to-"_

_Nex's eyes flew open, and some of the shadows flowing into him passed through his core and into his limbs, strengthening them. His breathing eased, his eyesight became sharper, and the horrible pain of the thirst became simply a minor distraction._

"_No!" the voidwalker roared, and in a surge of shadows it poured into Nex's tiny hole, clawed hands reaching. "The Mistress cannot hold me, not now! Whatever her orders not to kill you, I will do it if I must suffer eternal torment!"_

_Nex felt those claws close around his throat, closing it off, tearing into his skin, but for the moment didn't panic. The magic was still flowing into him, and air wasn't as pressing as it had been. He would need it soon, for not even magic could completely replace the necessities of life, but for now he was safe._

_He stared into those diamond points of darkness, eternal shadow, and realized that the creature before him was of the same substance he'd been drawing into himself. Almost quizzically he reached out, into those orbs, and began drawing the shadows of the demon itself._

"_No!" Kal'than roared. Nex felt the claws around his neck disappear for a moment before coming back, stronger than ever. He gagged, struggling to draw breath, even as he drew deeper on the shadowy demon. "This cannot be! Not even the Master can tap claimed shadows. Monstrous little mortal, what vile creature spawned you?"_

_Nex felt something in his throat starting to collapse, and in a last desperate surge sucked all the remaining shadows from within the binding circumference of the demon's two armbands. With a last wail that seemed to fade into eternity the remainder of the voidwalker's shadows exploded outward in a raw puff of energy that burned his face and hands and singed his clothing. Then there was deep silence, broken only by the sharp clink of two armbands hitting the ground._

_. . . . ._

_Nex stared at the empty shackles that had constrained the voidwalker, mind racing with newfound strength and energy. His first thought was to get a drink from the filthy pool, and he pulled himself out of his hole and knelt before the filthy water. He'd barely taken a sip before he realized he wasn't really thirsty. The shadows he'd consumed from the voidwalker itself were sustaining his body much better than food or drink ever had._

_What had it said, with its shadowy claws around his neck? That it had been ordered not to kill him, but it was going to do it anyway. Did that mean Lynda ordered her demons not to kill him? He'd always thought it was just luck that kept him alive down in the pit, but if the creatures couldn't kill him that might give him an advantage. Sure, they could torment him plenty, but there had to be some limit to that too, or they'd hurt him bad enough that he'd die._

_But that was a worry for another time. He stared down at the voidwalker's bands for a moment more, feeling tentatively at the power within him. It fluctuated sharply, ebbing and flowing by no rules he could see. He reached for it, trying to manipulate it in some fashion, but it was like trying to wrestle with Lynda's pet felhound._

_Finally, frustrated, he stared up at the viewing ledge and the stone door. He didn't know how to cast the spell Lynda used to draw him up to her when his torments were done with. Lacking that knowledge, all he could do was direct the power flowing through him directly downwards into the floor and push with all his might._

_It worked, after a fashion. He flew through the air as if thrown, spinning uncontrollably no matter how he swung his arms. He hit the stone door hard enough to make him bite his tongue, and when he landed he felt like he'd been punched in the gut. Much of the energy he'd stolen from the voidwalker still remained, and as he gathered more of the shadows into him it slowly began to fill once more. How much could he hold?_

_Before he could explore the question the stone door creaked open, and Lynda stood there before him with an expression of shock, perhaps even fear, stamped across her features. Both emotions lasted only a moment before being replaced with rage. "How dare you?" she demanded, stepping onto the platform. Nex edged backwards, terrified anew and with all his earlier feelings of triumph dying once more into the cold hard ball of fear that was his usual state._

_Lynda took another step forward. "Ungrateful child," she snarled. "You're a guest in my house. I do everything for you. EVERYTHING. And here you are, going where you aren't invited. Acting as if my rules mean nothing."_

_Nex tried to edge back further, and felt his heels slide out over empty space. He wobbled there on the edge, struggling for balance while at the same time trying to make himself as small as possible. Lynda took another step forward, looming over him. "Nex-thanarak shubar'tarul akhet, ni-thanarak ovi'nex," she snarled. "Worthless creature. I try to make you my favored pet, but you cannot even learn how to _stay_!" And with that she lifted a slippered foot and kicked him in the face with all her might._

_Nex felt pain blossom from his nose as something in it gave way, and next he knew he was falling. Somehow his instincts kicked in, and he did his best to push at the ground the way he had before. But this time instead of a surge of energy pushing downwards the unstable magic within him shattered, tearing at his insides. He tumbled, putting his arms out to break his fall, and felt one of his bones snap has he hit the ground._

. . . . .

With a gasp he surged to his feet, shadows flowing into him once more. Feeling more confident now that he felt more as he always had, he edged out from beneath the willow's limbs and glanced around. Then he made for the hills, away from the torches to the east and the lights of the little town across the lake.

If his pursuit still followed he would show them how tireless he could be.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

Dead Ends

There were very few times in his life when he'd been so weary, and at the same time so infused with purpose, that sleep eluded him like a teasing lover refusing her charms. No matter how still he lay, no matter how hard he tried to empty his mind, all he could see were the bodies. They haunted him, even the ones he hadn't seen, in vivid detail. He'd heard shepherds sometimes counted their sheep to fall asleep, but for him counting bodies offered no such relief.

Puros sighed, staring up at the bright stars above. The night was dark and they shone with no moon to add to their splendor, filling the night with a deceptive light that one thought they could move through, thought they could see in, until they tried. Even now, waving his fingers across his eyes, he could barely see their silhouettes.

_Stars. Bastions of the Light that chase away shadow. Can you offer us anything but the comfort of relief from complete blackness?_ The stars twinkled merrily above, paying no mind to him or his problems, or the shadows he feared not even the Light could aid him in dismissing.

He could see in his mind the dark form of Nex, a shadow among shadows, huddled against the wall with a gryphon at his back ready to strike. How weak the lad had seemed, how weary. At the end of his strength, not even the shadows aiding him any longer. And even knowing all his crimes Puros had felt pity for him. He'd let his guard down, thinking the boy ready to be captured and imprisoned in the Stockades. It would have been a welcome relief to let powers greater than his own decide the boy's fate. He wouldn't have had to deal with the guilt of slaying him, after Nex had saved his life the last time they'd met.

It was weakness, nothing less. If he hadn't been such a soft fool he could have seen the attack coming and avoided it, and likely slain Nex there before he could continue his murders.

A soft tread nearby alerted him to the approach of one of the sentries, and a moment later a weary voice whispered in his ear. "It's been four hours, Lord Puros." A hand gripped his shoulder, shaking it gently. "I'm sorry, m'lord. I was to wake you, you said." After a pause the hand shook his shoulder again. "It's been four-"

"I'm awake," Puros said, more sharply than he had intended. The sentry drew back, surprised, and Puros sighed. He was as ragged as any of his men, and being unable to take advantage of the opportunity for much-needed sleep hadn't helped. He tried to moderate his tone a little. "Start waking the men."

The man nodded, then cupped shadowy hands around his mouth and bellowed "Oy! Wake up everyone. Time to move out!"

All around the camp men came out of their blankets with blistering oaths, scrabbling for weapons thrown aside in absolute weariness before they'd gone to sleep. Puros shook his head; he'd been on plenty of marches, and for small groups in hostile lands the standard practice was for the sentries to go from person to person, waking them quietly. The youth knew that, and the fact that he still shouted loud enough to wake every enemy for miles was a bad sign. They were all too tired, making stupid mistakes, not caring about procedures that could save their lives.

It was an even worse sign when Puros realized he didn't care how loud the sentry had been. He was just glad the men were getting up quickly.

The two priests, Antono and Gergor, were moving among the men and horses, invoking a prayer to the Light to grant them all greater endurance and fortitude. Puros began making his own rounds, blessing each man individually with greater might and strength of will. While these holy spells possessed considerable potency even they were reaching their limits; men were not meant to go for so long or so far with so little rest. And as hard as they were all pushing, he had seen how their pace slowed hour after hour in this hellish pursuit. Triple-time had fallen to double-time, which had fallen to time-and-a-half, and now they were struggling to maintain a normal marching pace.

One man remained in his blankets, refusing to move no matter how his companions nudged and prodded him. One even went so far as to dump a precious stream of water from his canteen over him, but the man simply rolled over and huddled tighter in his blankets, weeping.

Puros moved to kneel beside the man. "Kyle, is it?" he asked gently. There was no answer. "Kyle, you have to get up. We must continue, and if you aren't with us you'll quickly fall prey to foul creatures in this harsh land."

"I dun care," the young paladin groaned. "Leave m'be."

Puros remained still over the weeping figure, head bowed. Though it may have seemed he'd fallen asleep he was in fact begging the Light for a boon. It was not a gift the Light bestowed often, but Puros laid his hands on the youth's head and continued his beseechings, hoping against hope. He couldn't stomach the thought of leaving one of his brothers in this land.

For nearly a minute there was no sound but the men preparing to move out. Then soft light gleamed from between his fingers, and Puros could _feel_ strength flowing into the lad. It was so potent that the residues which flowed over him washed away some of his own weariness, leaving his exhausted mind clearer and his aching limbs stronger. He almost wanted to weep himself for the relief. He stood, hardly swaying, and proffered his hand. After a moment the lad accepted it and began seeing to packing his things.

Within a few more minutes' time they were all mounted up. Glancing around the camp one last time, Puros nodded and raised a hand, and with no more preamble than that they started the day's travel.

. . . . .

Six hours later they were struggling to maintain even normal pace, blessings and prayers notwithstanding. The sky was pale with the beginnings of pre-dawn glow, obviously enough for Jed Farnsen, their tracker, to see their quarry's footprints by. The man was well ahead of the rest of the party, blessed with incredible endurance and more lightly shod than his traveling companions.

It was obvious Jed could see the tracks because he was kneeling beside them, swearing loudly, vehemently, and with shocking creativity. His three tracking hounds, which had proven invaluable for following their quarry at night, lay on their stomachs nearby with their heads between their forepaws, looking at their master with almost human distress.

Puros reined in beside the leather-clad woodsman. "Something new?"

The man glared up at him. "Not a goldurn thing's new, and hell if it looks to ever be. His pace don't look to have slackened one bit from when I first began following him, other then when he moseyed through them ogres a day or so back, or his running into that dead-end gorge and 'ciding to backtrack rather than climb down the cliffs some three days through the Burning Steppes. Tarnation take me iffen we don't push and push, and hour by hour his trail jes' gets older and older. He may wear boots, but I reckon whatever this thing is I'm doubting I _want _to catch him."

Puros sagged out of his saddle, rubbing the bridge of his nose wearily as he knelt beside the tracker. "How far ahead is he?" he asked.

Jed rubbed his cheek thoughtfully, glaring at the tracks. "Can't hardly say for sure, but hellfire take me iffen he was walking this area sooner'n two days ago."

Behind him a few of the paladins groaned. Puros wanted to groan with them. Eleven days they'd pushed themselves, through rugged terrain not even a goat could enjoy, and often trying to skirt patrols of wild men gone feral from the orcish wars, or even bands of orcs that had escaped being rounded up into the internment camps. Those that hadn't actually escaped those internment camps when the pit gladiator Thrall led his little rebellion, and elected to flee south rather than making their way across the sea.

They hadn't seen a hint of civilization for nearly a week, and even their second string remounts were pushed to the edge of exhaustion. Two had already fallen over dead from it, and more would likely follow before they made it out of this hellish area where dark dwarves and orcs squabbled beneath the ground.

"We'll rest for an hour here," he said. "Break out some of the horse meat, and remember we're on half rations for water until we can find more, and that may not be for a while." His men were too weary to respond, with groans _or_ cheers, and Puros felt a moment of despair. Two days behind, passing through lands so foul that even the gnomes' insane underground tram seemed tempting by comparison. At this rate Nex had to already be in the Badlands, perhaps even entering the mountainous region surrounding Loch Modan.

Jarvak's outburst back when they'd just begun, that their quarry would be back in the Plaguelands while they were still slogging through the Wetlands, came back to him with the ring of prophecy. They were going slower and slower, and Nex was neither slowing nor stopping.

"Belay that," he said softly, voice thick with despair. "We'll rest for two hours."

. . . . .

Nex watched warily as the gryphon passed overhead, a bit north of his position. He'd been seeing more and more of them lately.

It stood to reason, he supposed. He was getting close to Ironforge and the dwarven lands bordering Khaz Modan, and it was the dwarves who bred and trained the beasts. No reason not to assume they'd use them in their patrols, especially in this mountainous region. Still, it was safe to assume they were on the lookout for him. At least he hadn't seen any waver in their course while passing overhead, so he could assume he hadn't been spotted.

As soon as the creature had faded completely from sight, no longer even a speck in the sky, Nex moved out from around his boulder and broke into a trot for the green blur in the distance. The broiling sun beat relentlessly overhead in this sere, dead land, and the loose sandy soil caught that heat and reflected it back in a furnace blast. Even with his magic the harsh environment was taking a punishing toll on his body, and Nex had the unpleasant notion he'd have to fall into one of his resting trances before too much longer. It would be nice if he could reach the higher, cooler elevations and relative greenness of Loch Modan, but that was more of a preference than a necessity.

One upside, at least, was that there were almost no other living things in this wasteland, aside from carrion scavengers and a hint of ogres to the south, away from the direction he was traveling. And in the slight chance he was still being pursued those who followed him would have to rest by day and travel by night, unless they wanted to suffer heat dementia or heatstroke.

Most such worries were nothing more than distant thoughts in the back of his mind, however. He was nearly through the dwarven lands, and soon enough he'd pass across the former borders of Lordaeron and arrive at his meeting-place with Stormrage.

. . . . .

Puros lifted the end of his white and gold tabard and used it to dab at the sweat streaming into his eyes. Like everything else it was gritty with windblown dust and sand, and the main result of his efforts were that the sweat was replaced by tearing as his eyes tried to push out the grit.

The sun was barely an hour over the horizon and it was already broiling hot, and it seemed the farther down the passes they went the worse it got. He was already regretting his decision to stick to their usual pattern and rest during the coolest hours of the night; in this land traveling by day was little short of suicide. "They call this the Badlands?" he asked Jed, who was stumbling along beside his horse looking thoroughly miserable.

The tracker glanced at him, pursed his lips as if to spit, and then apparently thought better of wasting the moisture. "So's I recall," he said shortly. "Tweren't ever here afore, and don't reckon I'd like to be here now." He stumbled, though the ground was fairly flat. A bad sign. Then with a sigh he slapped at Puros's leg to get his attention and pointed at an outcrop of rock like a table on one thick central leg in the distance. "Spect we should head for that, m'lord. Afore noon iffen we knows what's good for us. A little shade when the day's hottest will do us a right treat."

"If by that you mean we might survive until nightfall." Puros glanced at the indicated formation and shook his head grimly. It wasn't far, which was a bad thing. If getting there before noon was going to be a challenge, which he feared it would be, and waiting until the day cooled before continuing on, Nex would significantly lengthen his lead. He'd begun despairing of ever catching the murderer before now, unless for some reason Nex decided to stop, but now it was truly sinking in that their cause was hopeless. To add to his worries their water was running dangerously low. "To that outcrop, then," he said. "We'll go slow, and rest often. Quarter water rations, and less if you think you can manage it."

No one replied, although all followed his lead in turning away from due north to northeast. That put them closer to directly facing the sun, enough that he could feel it beating his face even though he kept his eyes resolutely on the ground directly in front of his horse. He glanced up at the sun for just a moment, but even that was enough to make his eyes smart. The sky was a pale blue, nearly white, and looked as sere and desolate as the land below.

To make matters worse he saw a few black spots dotting the cloudless expanse, and worriedly blinked a few times. He was no expert on such ailments, but was seeing black spots a sign of impending heatstroke? He lifted a hand to shade his eyes, looking around, and saw no spots, but when he looked up at the sky there they were again. The black dots, making a tight V along the northern horizon. It wasn't until he heard murmuring behind him that he realized the dots were real, and they were getting larger.

Jed Farnsen dropped into a crouch, cursing. "Do we hide, m'lord?" he asked.

Puros squinted at the approaching shapes. "What are they?"

"Feral dragons, mayhaps," the tracker said with a shrug, "or buzzards. Or wyverns or cloud serpents or rocs or possibly even gryphons. Whatever they are they'll see fourteen half-dead humans as a tasty meal."

Puros only heard the word gryphon. "Is it possible they're a dwarven patrol?"

Jed shrugged. "Hell if I know. Wouldn't think the mountain folk come this far east on patrol, but in hard times like these anything's possible."

The group fell silent, watching the approaching shapes with equal parts anticipation and dread. A few minutes passed before the priest Gergor, eyes gazing far away and in the midst of spellcasting, stiffened in his saddle and came back to himself with a jolt. "It's gryphons, all right," he said with a weary smile. "Three in formation, with a dwarf maid riding the foremost, a great obsidian creature, and two males riding the smaller ones at her flanks."

A ragged cheer went up, and Puros was gratified to see hope on his men's faces for the first time in days.

The approach of the gryphons abruptly became much swifter, as if they'd spotted the party, and a moment later they'd broken formation and were flying a wide circle overhead, one behind the other. Then the black gryphon broke away from the other two, its rider giving a complicated signal, and banked down to land a short distance away.

Puros dismounted, leaving his horse in the hands of one of his brothers, and started forward, waving wearily. "Well met!" he called out as he came within earshot.

The gryphon rider vaulted expertly out of her riding harness. Like all dwarves she was stout and muscular, though with more feminine curves than her male counterparts. "How are ye?" she called back, trotting forward. "Me name's Greana Swifthammer." As the female dwarf closed with him she lifted up her flight goggles, squinting in the bright sun, and grinned at him. The goggles left a red imprint around her eyes that might have been ludicrous if she hadn't been riding that vicious-looking black gryphon. That and the fearsome stormhammers resting at either hip, ready to be thrown. "I heared ye were needing-" she cut off abruptly, staring at the paladins behind Puros with shock. "Magni's bronze whiskers, what's happened to yer party?"

Puros glanced back at his brothers and their companions, all of whom wilted under the blistering sun of the Badlands. One of the younger paladins had dismounted and was actually asleep under his horse, using the beast for shade. The way the animal was wavering the stunt appeared even more risky than usual.

He turned back. "We've pushed ourselves hard in pursuit of a tireless enemy," he said quietly. "You know who it is we hunt?"

The female nodded grimly, waving to the pair of gryphons overhead to come in for a landing. As her two companions expertly set their mounts down beside her fierce black gryphon Greana turned back to him. "Aye, we know. Yer mate Manaspark's been doing yer cause justice in Ironforge, and there's nary a dwarf on patrol who doesn't know the villain's face to recognize it on sight."

Puros glanced at the two figures in riding leathers dismounting behind their leader. Neither one was small enough to be a gnome. "Where is Master Perival?" he asked. Though they hadn't traveled far together, he'd developed a surprising fondness for the mage.

"He's at the south tunnel, watching fer yer man Nex," the dwarf assured him. She turned to one of her escorts. "Look at these humans here, Flintshatter! Toss 'em your canteens and get their empty ones, then go find yerself some water and bring it back."

"Aye," the dwarf said, unstrapping a few leather bags that sloshed tantalizingly from beneath his flight saddle.

Puros accepted one gratefully, taking a small swig that even so seemed selfish, then handing it off to one of the dozens of hands eagerly jostling to accept it. The dwarf gave the other to the priest Antono, who went around to the men too listless to stir. Then with surprising efficiency the rider went around to the horses and began gathering up flasks and canteens, holding them all in his stubby arms as he jogged back to his mount.

Puros sank to a sitting position on the ground, too weary to stand. "Thank you, Mistrees Swifthammer. Your arrival is a boon to us, not least because of the water you bring."

"Aye," the dwarf glanced at the sere ground, shimmering with heat waves, and elected to remain standing. "Mebbe I'm being blunt with ye, but whatever yer commitment ye were being fools, pushing through this dustbowl like ye were at the races. It's lucky ye didn't find yerselves waylaid by orcs or ogres, and yer men too weak tae fight. Even withnae enemy but the sun ye were asking fer death tae find ye."

"I know." Puros looked away, towards the shimmer of green along a sloping valley to the north that suggested the beginning of the region of Loch Modan. "And all of it for naught. Our quarry runs swift as a gryphon in flight, with a demon's own endurance. I fear he's already far ahead of us."

The dwarf smiled at him with a sort of grim satisfaction. "Nae so far ahead as ye might be thinking. And few things be swift as a gryphon in flight, none of 'em running on two legs or four."

Puros turned back to her, catching a certain pleased edge to her tone. "You have good news?" he asked eagerly. No news would make up for the last two weeks, but anything was better than knowing they had failed.

"Aye, good news. When Manaspark came tae Ironforge Magni sent out patrols along every easy route, aye, and some of the harder ones too. We caught sight o' yer man Nex not long after he entered the Badlands, and figgered out which way he was goin'. He may have come by Loch Modan days before ye, but I promise ye he hasn't left it, and willnae until ye can catch him."

"But how..." Puros began, then remembered what Greana had said about Manaspark waiting at the southern tunnel. "Oh no." With effort he lurched to his feet, catching at the gryphon rider's shoulder in his haste. "You have to get to your men guarding the tunnels. Nex is an enemy greater than you can imagine, and not one to be taken lightly. He may have already passed whatever blockade you've set up."

Greana caught his hand and patted it gently before pushing it off her shoulder. "No need tae fret, human. We dwarves may havenae fought half the battles ye and yer's have, but we're nae fools. And yer damn gnome did right by ye, sure enough. We got strong guards at the north, south, an' west tunnels. Paladins o' our own, aye, an' a few priests with 'em. Not tae mention the mages Manaspark chivvied away from his people in spite o' their problems. Manaspark told us what we needed tae know of the enemy, and we're prepared."

Puros sagged back to the ground, as much in relief as in weariness. "We might catch him, then," he whispered. "Do you know where he is now?"

The female dwarf let out a gutbusting guffaw that was not in the least bit ladylike. "Aye, suren we do. The scrawny murderer's been bumping into one dead end ravine after another fer nearly a day now, after he seen the tunnels guarded an' no place else to go. We're takin' wagers on how long it'll take before he's desperate enough to start climbing." She patted the stormhammers on her belt fondly. "Wouldnae like to bet on his chances if he does."

"We had best be off, then," Puros said, once again pushing to his feet. "With your water and a bit of effort we can be to Loch Modan by nightfall, and in a position to capture him by dawn."

To his surprise the sturdy dwarf pushed him back down firmly. "Nay, human," she said gently. "Ye keep on pushing like ye have been, the only thing ye'll be catching is yer deaths o' some sickness. Yer villain is penned in the Loch Modan valley sure as a roc huddling in its cave, with no way out but through the gryphon's beak. Take the time tae rest and gather yer strength, and trust us tae keep yer boy in place until ye can catch up."

. . . . .

The group, traveling slower with Greana's constant assurances that their quarry remained trapped searching his way among the spidering maze of ravines, finally reached the main road that led from Dun Morogh through Loch Modan to the Wetlands. A few of his men even sank to their knees and kissed the neatly tended cobblestones, weary as they were from a night's travel in the Badlands and a morning's trek up a gradually greening valley that funneled a blessedly cool wind down from the mountains.

"Set up camp," Puros said with a smile. He waved to the road. "Right across the road if you like." His men lost no time in doing just that, and in spite of the noon sun most quickly went to sleep.

Jed Farnsen, however, didn't seem inclined to sleep. He was glancing north nervously, roughly in the direction of Nex's last reported whereabouts. After an undecided moment the tracker abruptly made for Puros, whistling sharply to call his three dogs to heel. "Begging your pardon, m'lord," he said. "But I reckon you won't be needing my services at this point. Iffen you could see clear to paying me for my troubles, I'd like to make for the south tunnel and Ironforge."

Puros was surprised, although he supposed he shouldn't have been. The man had made it clear his thoughts on following Nex on more than one occasion. "I assure you there'll be no danger in accompanying our party as we complete our goal," he said. "Are you certain you wish to leave?"

Jed laughed shortly. "My pader always told me 'sure you can track a stone giant, boy, it don't even take much skill. The main question is whether you want to catch it. And iffen you do, what's to say it stays caught?' I figger this character you think it's so all-fired important to catch might jes' be a mountain giant."

Puros looked around the camp. "I think we're prepared to handle the situation."

"Mebbe you is, maybe you ain't. Leastaways I'll have my money now, iffen you please."

"As you wish." Puros drew a few gold from his pouch, then after some contemplation a few more, pressing them into the tracker's hands. "You have the gratitude of the Church of Light for your services. Go in the Light, wherever your travels take you."

The man gaped at the coins for a moment, then grinned at Puros. "Thankee, m'lord. Reckon I'll do just that. Hoy Bur, Rub, Josephine, on we go then boys and girl!" The dogs took off southwards in a flurry of excited barking, and Jed followed them whistling softly.

Puros watched him go for a moment, almost envying him his freedom from continuing the task. Then he turned back to the camp.

A few of the veteran paladins, no stranger to the feel of coming conflict, were taking a short time before laying out their bedrolls to clean and oil their weapons and scour their armor of the sweat and sand of the Badlands. It didn't take long before they gleamed as bright and proud as they had upon leaving Stormwind. Chagrined by their example, Puros took some time to do the same before gratefully finding sleep in his own bedroll.

They had another happy surprise some five or so hours later, when they were wakened from their sleep by the sentries calling gladly down the road to a party of half a dozen dwarves and gnomes, riding tamed rams and mechanostriders, respectively. Proudly at the head of the group rode none other than Perival Manaspark himself. Upon hearing the sentries' cries the mage sped his mechanostrider into a swifter pace, flying across the distance between the two groups.

Puros pushed out of his own bedroll to meet Perival at the perimeter of the camp, clasping hands warmly with the gnome atop his mount. "I understand we have you to thank for all of the good that has come of our seemingly fruitless chase."

The mage grinned. "Not fruitless!" he said happily. "A friend to guest is a happy event, and a messenger bearing good news better still. But a friend with good news is by far the best." He motioned vaguely up into the sky. "Greana caught sight of us making our way to you and landed with the word. All her gryphon riders are closely watching Nex's movements, ready to report his slightest change of direction. And do you know why?"

"I have a feeling. But tell me anyway."

Manaspark beamed. "His constant search of the ravines is bringing him swiftly closer to us. With the help of the gryphon riders we'll be able to catch him in a dead end where he can't escape and take him captive!"

"Good news and a good friend both!" Puros said with a laugh, clapping the gnome on the shoulder. Then he leapt into action, bellowing for his brothers to wake and prepare. Men began rushing everywhere, trying to tend to a dozen chores at once. Those who'd gone right to sleep were now checking their weapons and armor and, sheepishly, setting to the tasks of caring for them while their more experienced brothers were already putting their armor on.

Manaspark watched it all, amused, while the dwarves and gnomes of his own party came up alongside and dismounted, joining in the preparations. Then the little mage dismounted from his own mechanostrider, sauntering over to pick up a helmet a paladin had left behind and handing it to the chagrined lad when he came to retrieve it. "Shine it up good, Sir Paladin," the gnome said. "By nightfall you'll be representing justice!"

. . . . .

The trail he'd been following ended in a cave, and even from fifty yards away his keen eyes could pierce the shadows well enough to see that it was only a few feet deep. It bore all the signs of an animal den, which meant he'd been following an animal trail, and one that didn't go anywhere.

Nex cursed, glaring around the dead end before him, and at the cliffs above that seemed to loom directly into the mountains surrounding Dun Morogh. He'd been encountering such dead ends far too often the last few days, ever since he'd followed the main dwarven road far enough to see it ended in a heavily guarded tunnel through the mountains, forcing him to turn back and seek another path. He'd found the road lead to two other tunnels in the south, both equally well guarded. Since then he'd left the roads and begun searching for a path too small for the dwarves to guard. Obviously they couldn't cover _every _route in an area this size.

At least, they couldn't if this area was anything but jagged peaks tickling the sky in every damn direction but the way he'd come. He was starting to fear that the only way to get past those impenetrable mountain walls was to either climb them, go around them, or go under them through the dwarven tunnels.

Going around them was an option, although it would almost double the amount of ground he'd have to travel. If he grew desperate enough he might try attacking the dwarven blockade at the north tunnel, although they would be prepared and not nearly so easy to maneuver around as the defenses of Stormwind had been. Going over the mountains was an equally unattractive option; not only would it take nearly as long as going around, but he'd be in plain sight of the constant gryphon patrols nearly the entire time. He didn't relish the thought of facing a dozen flying enemies throwing projectiles at him while he tried to climb the cliffs in this area.

He glanced back the way he'd come a bit doubtfully. Back was likely his best option, rather than trying to go over the cliffs. He hadn't seen any sight of pursuit for more than eight days, and he didn't _think_ anyone had the stamina necessary to follow him at the pace he'd been maintaining for the last two weeks. If he continued searching it would take time, but eventually he might find another way over the mountains.

On the other hand Stormwind had certainly sent out his description to all its neighbors, and the Alliance had a daunting number of allies among the Eastern Kingdoms. Every moment he wasted backtracking through this miserable maze of dead ends and steep ridges was a moment more for his presence to be discovered. The dwarves preferred their mining and digging underground, but even their race had hunters adept at tracking and hunting in their own familiar territory.

Still, a small delay was a slight risk, and getting up into the mountains was a larger one. Decided, Nex turned and ran back the way he'd come.

. . . . .

Puros silently motioned his small army of paladins, priests, gnome mages, and dwarf huntsmen into position around the mouth of the ravine.

Greana had chosen an ideal spot for an ambush. The ravine ended in a dense grove of trees, and the only way around that grove was along a narrow and bouldered slope along one side of the ravine, where a rockslide had killed the trees and left a rough path. He positioned the huntsmen and mages at ideal spots along that path, where they could attack from a distance in the open area, while he put his paladins at the forefront of the grove with the priests behind. Once he was certain everyone was in position he gave the signal for everyone to hold their positions and moved forward alone. As he did he called to the Light to shine upon a tortured soul.

He would pacify the boy himself, Light willing.

. . . . .

Nex was nearly to the mouth of the ravine, running in a full sprint out of sheer frustration and ducking through a thick grove of trees rather than going around them, when his ears caught a soft rustle in the woods to his left.

He slowed, confused, but before he could react a warm comforting light abruptly washed over him like soft down. From out of nowhere feelings of unfathomable anguish and remorse ripped through his soul. Nex tripped and fell headlong, slamming into a tree trunk face-first. Stars flashed before his eyes, and he felt warm blood flowing from his nose. The guilt, though, the guilt like a mountain weighing upon his back, pressed him down and down until it was hard for him to breathe. He gasped, tears beginning to flow from his eyes. In abject misery he pulled himself to his knees and rested his head in his palms, groaning. In his mind's eye he could see the faces of every person he'd slain in Stormwind. More faces, even, ones that he didn't recognize but knew for a surety had died because of his actions.

What was this? He was no stranger to guilt; when he had been a boy and still harbored a shred of trust for Lynda she had often made him feel guilty as a means of controlling him. But he thought the ability to feel guilt for any of his actions had been purged from him long ago. He certainly hadn't given a second thought to the deaths of those humans before, seeing only the necessity of completing his mission, but...

The guilt was starting to fade, and he finally became truly aware of the warm Light washing over him. Light, in the midst of deepening dusk. Understanding dawned; this was a paladin spell.

Nex scowled, fighting the residual effects. Trust to those Light-wielding zealots to have an attack that preyed on feelings of guilt and remorse. He shoved away the remainder of the emotion and pushed to his feet, swiping at the blood on his face with an annoyed growl. He froze halfway through the gesture, however.

Surrounding him on every side among the trees were plate-clad humans, massive in their armor and some riding barded and armored chargers. Both men and mounts looked somewhat the worse for wear, but all the more sinister for it. From behind him came a voice he knew, cold as the judgment of the Light and twice as unforgiving.

"Nex-thanarak. You are under arrest for major crimes against the city of Stormwind and the people of Azeroth. Throw down your weapons and surrender or we will capture you by force."


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

Unrepentant

_Damnit_. All that time rushing from one dead end to another, trying to find a way through, and it turned out that the blasted paladins were not only following him, but apparently killing themselves and their mounts to do so in good time.

It looked as if the best option _would_ have been to climb his way out of that last ravine. Not that it mattered now.

Nex turned slowly to see Puros dismounting from his charger, tall and gleaming in his armor. He had little respect for servants of the Light, but he had to admit the display was impressive. "Lightfinder," he said civilly.

"Throw down your weapons and surrender."

Nex glanced around the ring of humans glaring at him, with a handful of dwarves and gnomes thrown in for good measure. There were a lot of imminent dangers inherent in this situation, but only one would lead to certain-and swift-death.

They were going to search him. They would be fools not to, and one thing Puros was not was a fool. They would find the Illidari stone for certain, and there was no way they would let him keep such a powerful artifact in his possession once they had him prisoner. Stormrage may have lied about many things, but Nex was certain the demon hunter hadn't lied about what would happen if he lost the stone.

"Are you sure my weapons should be your first priority?" he asked finally, trying to stall for time as he figured out what to do.

The paladin considered that for a moment, then shrugged and turned to leaner men wearing travelstained robes of the Church of Light's priory. "Remove his magical defenses and burn away his mana."

Nex winced. That wasn't exactly what he had in mind. He'd expected them to magically silence him to prevent spellcasting, but this was a more pragmatic-and lasting-solution. "I use mana to sustain my body. If you burn it all away it will kill me."

A few of the humans surrounding him muttered in disbelief. Puros's frown merely deepened. "I don't understand how that's possible."

"Obviously not, or you wouldn't have ordered your men to effectively kill me. After all, wasn't I supposed to have surrendered?"

Before Puros could answer one of the priests stepped forward and whispered in his ear for a long while. The paladin's expression gradually turned from righteous anger to disapproval and disgust, but finally he nodded. "Very well, Antono, see to it. He is in yours and Gergor's care until we return to Stormwind. Ensure he is not able to cast any spells or flee."

"As you command, Lord Puros," the priest said. "If this scum derives his energy in the same manner as the undead, it should be trivial to shackle him as I would an undead. Come, Gergor."

The two lifted their hands in unison, crying out with one voice to the Light, and a moment later Nex was enveloped in a harsh, blinding radiance. Through it he could dimly see one of the priests weaving spell matrices to unravel his magical defenses, while the other kept up a constant holy assault on the power within him. His skin smoked and he felt as if his insides were coming undone as his power burned, while the rough texture of his demon skin came away in patches, as did many of his demonic enhancements.

The weakness and the pain conspired to leave him on his knees, though not as quickly as he would have assumed; the power he could draw from shadows was not trivial, but after the heady flow from the stone it seemed so. Yet even that was a trial for the two priests to deprive him of. His weakness continued to grow and he had less and less power to lend strength to his limbs, until finally he was forced helpless to the ground. As the assault continued he feared he would be killed after all, and wondered if he shouldn't have resisted, or shouldn't begin now.

Then it ended, when he had just a trickle of power remaining, barely enough to keep him breathing. He dimly heard one of the priests say "I sense deep corruption about him still, but he barely holds enough power to sustain his body now."

Nex ignored the conversation, huddling there on the ground in the growing dark, daring to draw in just a tiny trickle of power, barely enough to move.

After a few moments he finally looked up, weak and sick and with fiery pain burning along every nerve. It appeared his captors had enjoyed the show; at the least, they all showed grim satisfaction. Summoning his will as best he could, he stood.

"Draw no more," Antono warned, "or we'll begin the process anew." Nex nodded and ceased drawing shadows, swaying on his feet.

"Well," Puros said after a moment. "I believe we were at the part where you relinquished your weapons."

Back where he started, and he still had no idea how to prevent capture of his Illidari stone. "All of them?"

A young paladin hefted his hammer menacingly. "All of them, murderer," he growled. "You won't like what happens if I find anything on you that even resembles a weapon."

Nex shrugged. "All right. It's going to take a while, though." He could only see one way to keep the stone, and he didn't like it. _Oh well, can't be helped_. Slowly, with careful, nonthreatening movements, he reached for the clasps on his pack and loosed them, letting it fall to the ground; losing that weight was a relief in any case. At least for the moment they were more wary of getting close to him while he was armed than they were of any move he might make, but if he took too long they'd get impatient and start searching him themselves. He didn't have much time.

So as he drew his double-pointed knives from his belt one by one and dropped them to the ground he faked a coughing fit, brushing his other hand by where he kept the stone and expertly palming it, then covering his mouth with it as if to mask his coughing. The Illidari stone was slightly larger than an apricot, and solid. It barely fit into his mouth and he had serious doubts about swallowing it. But he obviously couldn't simply leave it in his mouth and keep his lips sealed. They'd be suspicious enough to search there for sure. So with a grimace he shoved two fingers against the stone, pushing it back as far as he could, and then tried to swallow.

It lodged firmly in his throat.

"He's trying to kill himself!" one of the gnomes shouted, in a tone that suggested the little bastard had no intention of letting him off that easy. Nex fought his gag reflex and tried to swallow again. He wasn't concerned with not being able to breathe, since while he was standing still his magic could replace the need to breathe for several minutes. What he _was_ concerned with were the four burly humans lunging at him with their shields out in front, obviously intending to bear him to the ground.

In desperation Nex grabbed on of his sturdy-bladed knives and jammed the hilt into his mouth, using it to push the stone as he swallowed with all his might. He felt something tear in his throat, and the pain was quite unpleasant, but to his relief he felt the stone sliding, nearly catching, then sinking into his stomach. With any luck it was so big that it would stay there.

A moment later he was buried in half a ton of steel, which was also not pleasant. Gauntleted hands grabbed his arms and legs and held them in a vice-like grip, while one gauntleted hand pried his lips open and began pawing around in his mouth. That wasn't very pleasant either, and the stink of sweat and steel wasn't the worst of it. "He's already swallowed it, Lord Puros," that paladin reported.

Nex heard Puros swear. "Too late now, then. Search him thoroughly and take everything. I don't care how harmless it looks."

After what seemed like ages those hands deprived him of all his weapons, as well as his cloak and coat. Nex sucked in a breath as those hands gripped the cord around his waist, preparing to remove it. That cord was in fact the sentient whip he'd taken from the dreadlord Rachondimus's corpse, and by far his most powerful possession aside from the Illidari stone itself.

He could feel it rousing from stupor, preparing to lash out at the foreign hands which gripped it. _Recede_, he ordered it mentally. It resisted for just a moment, and he was forced to exert more direct mental control over it. Disquiet gripped him at what would happen if the demonic artifact broke free of his control. _Recede, we will slaughter them in my time. _For an eternal instant the whip wavered, even wisping slightly as it prepared to burst into flame, and then the sentience went out of it once more, leaving just a hint of malignant will.

The priest Gergor, watching him closely, had stiffened. "What was that?" he demanded suspiciously.

Nex tried not to tense his muscles and give away his fear. "I was telling you to go to hell," he smiled, showing his inhumanly long canines. "What, you didn't hear me?"

"Keep your mind to yourself, murderer," Antono said, stepping up beside his comrade. "Or we will see that you do."

"Enough of this," Puros said, stepping forward. "What did you swallow? Answer honestly and it will go well with you."

Nex grinned a bloody smile at the man, relieved that focus had been taken off the whip. So the man wanted honestly, eh? "If you want to find out you're welcome to cut me open."

The paladin holding his head up with a fist in his hair gave a sharp yank, wrenching his head to one side. "Don't tempt us, bastard."

Nex kept his smile, but not because of any show of bravado. He could feel the stone resting in his gut like a lead weight. More importantly, he could feel the power within it waiting for him to draw it out. It was good that he could tap the artifact even though he didn't have direct access to it.

Puros turned to the man on Nex's left, holding his arm and leg on that side pinned. "Since you were too slow, Jarvak, you have the pleasure of winnowing his leavings for whatever it was he just swallowed." Nex craned his head enough to see the expression of disgust the paladin wore.

He couldn't help but laugh. "No need for that, Lightfinder. I don't eat, I don't drink, and I don't need to eliminate waste I'm not creating."

The paladin glared, gripping his warhammer in frustration, then cursed and whirled away. "I'll leave it to you to watch him, Antono. Ensure he does not produce whatever he swallowed by some means, and if he does I want it brought to me." He raised his voice. "It's dark and we're tired. We'll camp here tonight, in the grove. See to it while I consecrate this ground."

Nex grimaced at that. It wouldn't be pleasant, sleeping on consecrated ground, but at least he didn't have his demon skin or much of his power. The plate-clad paladins holding him swiftly and ungently pushed him to the ground and hog-tied him, making the bindings tight. All the while they grumbled, displeased at how things had gone.

"I killed myself for three weeks just for _this_?" the man Jarvak muttered incredulously. "Lord Puros could have just come alone, or brought the priests for their aid."

Nex couldn't help but laugh. "If your precious paladin had come alone with those two weak lapdogs they'd all be dead, I assure you." He immediately regretted speaking when a gauntleted fist crashed into the back of his head, nearly knocking him unconscious, and was still after that.

"Phew," one of the others said. "He may look human but he stinks worse than an orc. Glad it's you set to watch him and not us, priests."

_Yes, it's not as if I've been running for three weeks straight or anything. And you don't smell all that good yourself, although you've probably learned to ignore the stink of pig sweat and rotting leather, to say nothing of grease and corroding metal._ Nex wisely kept those thoughts to himself.

He was left alone after that, although certainly not ignored. Ten feet away or so a fire was lit and fed until it crackled hungrily within its pit, and a few men knelt around it preparing food for the group. The smells were hardly enticing, but with his power so drained Nex could hardly help but notice them.

As the camp was set he was disturbed only once, by a gnome that might have struggled to top three feet, wearing fine robes covered by a long dustcloak. "Hey there," the gnome said, not kindly. The little creature moved forward until his face was within inches of Nex's.

Nex could feel the arcane power within the gnome; it was considerable. "Nex-thanarak," he said, "meaning "all-encompassing nothingness" in demonic. At your service, good gnome."

The tiny mage's face darkened with rage. "Percival Manaspark," the little creature squeaked. "You killed a good friend of mine, shadowcaster. The only service I need you to perform is to contemplate your death during the time it takes us to return to Stormwind! I'll be pleased with whatever execution the King decides for you, although I hope it'll be particularly unpleasant!"

Nex watched the gnome with unblinking eyes for a few long, uncomfortable moments, until it was obvious the mage had said his peace and was waiting for some response. At his waist the whip tried to stir, and he mentally pushed it back. "I've always thought gnomes were the most irritating creatures on Azeroth," he said mildly. "And the only ones I've ever met were cheerful. Good to know they remain just as annoying when angry."

Manaspark snarled and lifted a slippered foot, slamming it into Nex's face with surprising strength. Nex tried to duck the blow but his bonds were too tight, and he rolled a half turn until his face was pressed into the dirt. Without saying another word the gnome stalked away to set up his own little tent.

Emotions roiled within him, but they were not his own. For the first time since he'd subdued the whip the night of its former master's death, the artifact was expressing itself. In nothing so clear as words, but he could feel its derision at his weakness, allowing a tiny little creature to abuse him, allowing himself to be captured. All without a fight.

_You disapprove? _he asked the artifact. _You can reveal yourself, if you wish. I'm sure before the priests cleanse your taint from this earth you'll be able to feel a bit of triumph at having escaped me._ For a moment the whip's contempt of the priests flashed bright and hot in his mind, and then Nex pushed the image of Puros at it. _There's one who will remember you, and not kindly._ Another surge of emotion, and the whip receded once more.

Once the camp was set and the food prepared the men began to eat. Nex tried to draw some shadows, more to dull awareness of his hunger than anything, and the priest Gergor made a warning noise. He subsided.

Apparently the noise was enough to draw Puros's attention. The paladin looked over, then shook his head with a sigh. "He may be a monster but we don't need to treat him like one. Shift his binds so he can at least sit comfortably and eat."

The orders were carried out sullenly, but they were carried out. Nex was dragged closer to the fire, his hands moved in front of him and retied in such a way that he could hold things. He had no illusions about any opportunities that provided. His legs, however, were kept tied at the ankles and at the knees, making sitting awkward and uncomfortable. In truth it wasn't much of an improvement, but he didn't much care.

One of the priests, Antono he thought, dished up some of the unappetizing stew and proffered it to him. "Eat," his guard dog commanded.

Nex glanced at the bowl of slop the priest held and looked away with a curl of his lip. "I have no need of such sustenance."

Antono laughed sharply. "You think not? If you draw even a bit more energy you'll reach the level at which I consider you to be dangerous, and I'll burn it out of you."

"So soon?" Nex traced a demonic symbol with both hands, having little trouble even tied as they were in interlocking his fingers to perform the complicated gesture. Lines of glowing green appeared in the air for a moment and the priest tensed, but they abruptly faded out and Nex sagged. "I can't even keep my body moving with the table scraps you allow me. If you wish me to continue to walk I'll require more."

"If it's energy you need you'll have it," Antono shoved the bowl into his face and let it go, forcing Nex to either catch it or slurp the watery drizzle of gravy and overcooked vegetables out of his clothes. "There you go. Have as much as you like, and shit it out too. Might be we'll get to see what it is you thought important enough to keep from us."

Nex focused internally, assuring himself that the stone remained within his stomach. To his relief it didn't seem to have moved. "I wouldn't get too optimistic."

The skinny priest shrugged. "Then we'll cut it out of you after the hanging. Don't suppose you'll mind either way." He moved over to a log by where the others ate and sat, watching Nex like a hawk. With a shrug Nex began slurping the tepid mixture, not really enjoying it but not caring either way. After he'd finished the bowl he hobbled over to a clear space between two tents-still within sight of Antono's suspicious glare-and sat. It was going to be a boring night.

After a few moments Puros moved over to sit against a tree nearby. He was holding something that glinted dully in his hands, and even with his superior vision it took Nex a moment to recognize the old, brown gold of the Aran signet ring. "I take it this belongs to you," the paladin said.

Nex shrugged. "It did, until you took it."

"I'm no thief," Puros said with surprising vehemence. Nex made no response, and after a moment the paladin cleared his throat. "It doesn't seem particularly dangerous."

"Then you're a fool. That's the signet of House Aran, a family of gifted spellcasters. You may not be able to conjure more than cheap tricks with it, but it still has some minor power."

"Not enough to be dangerous." Puros hesitated, pushing the ring around his palm with one finger. "You may have it back if you wish."

Nex looked away. "Keep it, Lightfinder. I've outgrown any usefulness it might have had to me, and I have no desire of any mementos of my heritage. The only purpose it really had was to confirm my identity so I could claim what was mine, but your man Burnside has deprived me of that."

It was Puros's turn to look away. "I despise injustice, boy. Though you're a criminal, if you've been wronged I'll see your wealth returned to you."

Nex laughed harshly. "What do you care? I'm your prize, the thieving murderous criminal. I wrong others. I'm not capable of being the victim of wrongdoing. And for that matter what do I care? Even if it's restored to me I'll simply be executed, and the Aran lineage dies with me. Instead of the greedy fingers of a banker scrabbling through the pitiful scraps of the family fortune it'll be left to the Crown and the Church to squabble over claim."

The paladin's mouth tightened. "Suit ourself." He shifted around until he was on his knees and by all appearances began to pray.

Nex watched the practice with some disgust. It seemed sanctimonious of the man to do that right in front of him. Finally, aware he'd probably just end up getting beat some more, he spoke up. "How is the Light any different from the power source that I draw from?"

Puros stiffened, straightening slowly from his prayers to turn to him. "You can even ask that?" he asked in quiet disbelief. "The Light is not just pure, it is the _source_ of purity. All life and growth and good comes from it. If you need any proof of what I say look at yourself. Wasted, corrupted, your body unable to sustain itself without magic. Such is the prize of the power you wield."

Nex shrugged. "The Light does have those advantages, yes," he smiled viciously. "But do you honestly think humans would _worship_ it if it didn't give them power? If you couldn't use it to heal your allies and bring retribution down upon the corrupt would _you_, Puros Lightfinder, pray to it so avidly?"

The paladin stood, face taut with indignation. "I'll pray elsewhere," he said sharply, and strode away.

With smug smiles the two priests, Antono and Gergor, moved to take their leader's place, knelt, and began to pray. Nex sighed and shut his eyes.

. . . . .

The next morning Nex was awakened by most of his mana being once more burned out of his body. He folded in on himself with a groan until it was over, then looked up balefully at his attacker. "Get up," Gergor said tersely. "We make for Ironforge in ten minutes."

Nex sat up and was aware of a hollow rumbling in his stomach. It was apparently working, and none too pleased at being empty. "Time for breakfast, then."

"Breakfast" was a thick clumpy porridge and a cup of water. Nex didn't enjoy it at all, but felt slightly better for it. He felt slightly less better after breakfast, when Jarvak cut the bonds on his ankles and knees, yanked him to his feet, and dragged him over to stand behind Puros's warhorse. The angry gray beast looked at him balefully over its shoulder, aiming a kick which Nex dodged awkwardly. Then the paladin took his bound hands and tied a lead to them, which he then tied behind the stallion's saddle.

Nex looked at the string of remounts, some eighteen in all. "Please tell me you're joking," he said. The lead was barely long enough to keep him out of range of another kick.

Jarvak smiled viciously. "Haven't you ever heard of the Penitent's Walk?"

"I wouldn't consider myself particularly penitent," Nex observed.

The paladin replied by punching him in the gut so hard Nex retched out his pitiful breakfast. "Maybe that'll put you more in the mood," he said with vicious satisfaction.

Once again, Nex came to the conclusion that silence was the best policy.

When it was time to depart Puros mounted without even glancing back at Nex. "We've had a good rest, and I'm sure we're all eager to get this journey over with," he said, raising his hand in a signal to move out. His hand dropped like an axe over a chopping block. Nex pushed that unpleasant image out of his mind. "Time and a half for now. If that proves too difficult we'll drop to normal pace."

With that the paladin set his horse at what seemed to Nex to be a slow ramble, and he curled his lip. _This_ was so difficult they may have to slow down? His smile quickly vanished as the lead tugged him forward with a lurch, and he lurched again to avoid hitting the horse's hindquarters. Then he tripped over a rock, stumbled, and was dragged for two half-steps before he got his balance again. The next ten feet after that weren't much better, and the hundred feet after that considerably worse.

Two hours later, without rest or food, he was silently begging Puros to call for a halt or slow the pace. He was stumbling every third step, now, and half a dozen times he had been dragged behind the horse for a dozen steps before he could get his feet back under him in a desperate scramble. His breathing was as labored as it had ever been, and his throat was parched and clogged with dust kicked up by the mounts in front of him. What was worse, every time he tried to draw shadows to strengthen himself one of the priests, riding behind, seared all the mana from him. That had been the reason for his being dragged four of the times, as he struggled to breathe against the pain and balance his mana to a point they wouldn't consider threatening but which he could actually use.

He was starting to feel more and more as if he was back in Lynda's Pit, facing the torments of demons. What was it he had said, drunk in that guardsman's tavern? That he preferred demons to humans in some ways, because humans could be every bit as cruel as demons, but were far less predictable.

Hunger, too, was becoming more and more an issue, until it nearly bordered on a pain of its own. What was more his muscles were not up to this agonizing march. When he had fueled them by magic he had had all the strength he needed and more, but his vague knowledge of humans suggested that most men gained strength through constant use of their muscles, and letting their muscles grow through consumption of food. Lacking that, and without magic, he was as weak as a prisoner kept locked in a cage for a decade.

He caught the faintest touch of another presence, and feared he was coming under mental attack from the priests before he recognized the malignant will of the whip. Again it did nothing so sophisticated as speak to him, but he could feel its contempt for his weakness as strong as his own. An image came to his mind of the whip becoming a third leg for him in the mage tower, helping him walk, but whether it was merely a memory or an attempt at communication he couldn't tell. He pushed the whip's consciousness down, not even bothering to speak to it.

The whip was right to be disgusted at his weakness, in any case. If he survived this ordeal he was going to have to put considerable thought into not using magic to strengthen his limbs and doing it the natural way. It was better to have the strength when he needed it, in times of emergencies when for some reason his magic was stripped from him, than to not have it and regret it.

Of course, that was if he survived.

. . . . .

"I saved your life," Nex said, so quietly that Puros wasn't sure the man had even spoken. He turned in his saddle and glanced back at the bound prisoner staggering behind his horse.

The boy looked a complete mess. He was panting like a bellows, every step an agony if his face was any sign. Puros had felt it each time the boy stumbled and was dragged, and it wrenched his heart with pity to see even _this_ criminal in such clear discomfort. But he could do nothing about it: the Penitent's Walk was a sacred symbol of justice. All who did wrong must fully realize their evil with the deepest horror their wounded souls could manage.

Still, if this went on the boy's obvious lack of strength was going to slow their progress. Perhaps even a hint of penitence would be enough to get him on a horse, for now. He motioned the column to halt. "What was that?" he demanded.

Nex smiled, revealing his inhumanly long canines. He certainly didn't _look _penitent. In fact, now that they were stopped he looked pleased with himself. "In the Plaguelands. I saved your life. I tended your wounds. And then, in Stormwind, you greeted me for the first time with a warhammer thrown at my head. I saved your life, and you tried to kill me."

Puros scowled. Not so penitent at all. "Don't play innocent with me, boy. You started a conflict that left dozens dead."

Nex blinked in very convincing confusion. "Did I? What conflict would that be, Lightfinder?"

Puros spat off to the side. "Nothing we can prove, unfortunately. But we _can_ prove you slew the mage Elara Frostheart."

Nex shrugged. "Self defense."

Perival swooped in from the side on his mechanostrider, incensed. "Self defense?" he squeaked, for once his high voice not sounding the least bit amusing. "You slew an innocent woman in the middle of our mage tower!"

The boy shrugged again. "I made a deal with her that she would retrieve the tome for me. She broke the deal, and when I came to claim the tome she attempted to kill me. I barely escaped with my life."

"You...she...you..." Perival spluttered, face going purple with rage. "That's the most absurd thing I've ever heard!"

"It's her word against mine, and she seems to be dead. Where are the witnesses who saw me kill her in cold blood?"

Puros leaned over in his saddle and rested a hand on the enraged gnome's shoulder. "I have no doubt of your guilt," he said coldly. "But even if you were innocent of that murder, I saw you slay the gryphon and its rider in the skies above Stormwind."

With a slightly mocking smile Nex shrugged a third time. "I slew only the gryphon, which amounts to a restitution crime. I believe the coin value for an adult gryphon is three hundred gold Anduins. I would be happy to repay you once we return to Stormwind and I can access my accounts at the Stormwind City Bank." He slapped his forehead as if he'd forgotten something. "Oh, except Master Burnside had me banned from the city to prevent me from ever being able to withdraw that money." Puros stared at the boy in disbelief. "Yes yes, the rider. A fall from that height wouldn't kill me, how was I supposed to know it would kill him?"

All the weariness, rage, frustration, and grief of three weeks in pursuit finally spilled to the surface as the boy calmly explained away his actions as if they were perfectly justified. Puros wasn't aware of leaping from the saddle until he'd borne the murderer to the ground beneath him and was pummeling him with all the strength of his gauntleted fists. Cries of alarm rang out, and a moment later two of his brothers dragged him away from the bound criminal. Puros went still immediately, ashamed of himself for attacking an unarmed and helpless man. But his rage still burned hot. "You callous bastard," he snarled. "Those were people whose lives you snuffed out. Good people, innocent of any wrong!"

"You forced me into it, Puros Lightfinder." Nex said coldly. He lay still on the ground, having remained so throughout the brief but brutal beating. Blood flowed from his nose and from a split and puffy lip, but he made no effort to staunch them. His dark eyes bored into Puros's like twin augers. "Wasn't it your signature on the writ to bar me from the city? And what had I done to deserve it? My master gave me twenty-four hours to retrieve the Journal of Aegwynn, after which I would have died a painful and horrible death. Without your intervention I could have simply purchased a book which no one thought valuable. _You_ killed those people by putting me in a position where it was infiltrate the city and steal the tome, die trying, or die failing. I didn't try to kill any of those people. I would have been in and out without harming a soul if I could have." Nex's cold eyes narrowed slightly. "Perhaps it was _you_ who raised the alarm, alerting them to my presence and thus forcing me to kill them. So whose hands is that blood on? Whose, paladin!"

"Yours." Puros turned away, weary and disgusted. "You wriggle and squirm like a damned soul, but your crimes scream demands for justice. Your victims will not rest easy until you have paid for their deaths in full." However slow they were forced to go, he suddenly resolved that Nex would walk every step of the way back to Stormwind, if they had to slow the gnomish tram and make him walk behind. He remounted and started the column moving once more.

Behind him Nex was silent for a time, save for his panting. When he finally spoke it was so quietly that Puros barely heard the words. "Death is the only thing to look forward to."

Penitence? No. To Puros's ear the boy's voice rang with despair, hidden under all the bravado.

. . . . .

Not long after that Greana Swifthammer and her gryphon riders, nearly a dozen in all found them on the road and came in for landings. To Puros's surprise, the female dwarf and the others in their riding leathers actually set their gryphons to walk alongside the mounts. The beasts' motions were surprising fluid, walking, and showed no difficulty in keeping up.

"To what do we owe this honor?" Puros asked with a smile as the gryphon riders' leader moved her gryphon to walk alongside his warhorse. His mount nickered nervously at having the predatory bird so near, but was well-trained enough to give no other sign. Puros had had much more trouble with the ill-tempered beast when a few of the mares had gone into heat some weeks back.

The female dwarf grinned back. "We're t' see ye safely back t' Ironforge, or Magni'll have me ponytails nailed t' the front gates." A few of her riders chuckled at that, but all seemed to agree with the assessment.

"We're glad of your company, of course. But I understand fliers have to fly. If you tire of our pace you need not wait, or if you feel you must you can circle overhead."

"No need tae tell us that!" one of the other dwarves said with a laugh. "We'll go at our own pace, sure enough."

But whatever their words, for a time the riders seemed content to walk their gryphons alongside. After a short time had passed Puros called a stop. His men had taken the pace well, as had their horses, but there was no need to push them overmuch. He was quite firm in his certainty that he had _not_ stopped because he'd been dragging the criminal Nex for nearly a minute beforehand, the boy showing now signs of movement.

"Get him food and water," he said as he dismounted. "And make sure it stays down him this time." That with a warning look at Jarvak. Then he turned to Greana. "What's the road ahead look like?"

The female dwarf pinched her homely face in thought. "I'm used t' flying the distance, and I'm nae sure how to figure it from the ground. I could tell ye it's abou' a day's ride from Thelsamar to the South Gate, and mebbe another half hour through it into Dun Morogh. From there-"

"A little under two hours from where we're standing t' the South Gate," one of the dwarven mountaineers on his ram said as he approached. "Figuring we make this time all the way. An' from there another three days tae Ironforge."

"There ye have it, then," Greana said with a good-natured scowl at the dwarf. "Although I'm nae used t' being interrupted by a sorebottoms I could eat fer breakfast, ridin' something me gryphon _would_ eat fer breakfast."

The dwarf replied to her comment with a suitably inappropriate and raucous one of his own, and both laughed uproariously. Then Greana threw her arms around his shoulders. "C'mon, then," she said. "Let's see if anyone round here thought tae bring ale. I'm sure enough parched."

Puros shook his head as the two left and went to find his own refreshment, and ten minutes later they were on the road again.

The mountaineer appeared to have been right about the distance; about two hours after their first break, just as Puros was beginning to consider a second-again _not_ for Nex's sake-one of the mountaineers at the head of the party called back a sighting of the South Gate. He then moved to the right side of the road, calling and motioning for the rest to do the same, and a moment later Puros saw why.

The road here was banked by a hill on the right, and a cliff on the left. It was steadily rising, presumably to the tunnel the dwarves had carved between the valleys of Loch Modan and Dun Morogh. Making their slow, careful way down the road around the bend ahead were a caravan of dwarves riding small, sturdy wagons pulled by paired teams of rams. All the wagons were loaded with goods, covered by oilcloth, and it was obviously enough a resupply caravan. Puros repeated the call for his men to crowd the right side of the road as the wagons approached. As the first driver passed he threw a curious, suspicious glare Nex's way, but he was quickly distracted.

"Ta Badlands with ye, eh?" Greana called with a merry twinkle in her eye.

"Aye!" the dwarf driver called back. "The Archaeological Society heared of a promising site up in the Khaz mountains. One artifact after another, the way the scouts be telling it."

"Well what do ye think o' that!" the gryphon rider said with a grin. "We'll be one step closer tae learning the secrets of our past."

"We'd best be, by Brann's bronze beard! I been shuttling supplies to the base camp fer almost a month now, and the dig's barely begun." One of the rams pulling the wagon made a _blaaat_ sound and tried to butt the other ram, and the driver cursed. "Ach, but I'll be driving into the ravine next. Keep yer feet on the ground, missy."

As the caravan passed Puros watched the string of dwarven wagons with narrowed eyes. He'd remained silent during the exchange, but he couldn't help but remark upon the fact that a sizable caravan of dwarfs, good, sturdy dwarves loaded down with supplies, were heading _away_ from the conflict in the Plaguelands. "What was that about?" he asked the female dwarf.

Greana glanced at him, then flushed. "Nothing much," she said with obvious reluctance.

"Enough that a resupply caravan is going somewhere other than the conflict zone in the north?"

The dwarves grumbled among themselves, and a few of their gryphons began shifting their wings, catching the mood of their riders. "Right then, ye want t' know?" Greana said, sounding defiant. "In our mining we been digging up relics of our ancient past fer nearly a decade now, but one o' the the most recent digs in northern Wetlands uncovered something remarkable. Wherever the other races may have come from, we have evidence that the dwarves were connected t' the makers of Azeroth itself!"

"So you decided to abandon a battle for the survival of humanity itself and send your people haring off searching for more clues to your ancestry?" Nex said from his position behind Puros's horse.

The dwarf flushed. "Shut yer damn mouth, criminal. I dinnae need to be explaining myself t' the likes of you. King Magni himself told us we're tae be shifting our focus from mining to archaeology, whatever kin be spared from the war."

The young human smiled. "What cause have I for your hate? I've done no wrong to the dwarves."

"Ye've killed our allies, and that's enough!" the gryphon rider shot back angrily.

"And you don't think providing token aid in the north while you change your focus to trivialities won't kill more of your allies than I ever could?"

"Taint triv...triivee...triviilties!" one of the other gryphon riders sputtered. "Yer talking about our past 'n our future."

Nex ignored the dwarf, almost speaking to himself aside from the way his voice carried to every ear. "The dwarves off digging holes, the night elves huddled somewhere in Kalimdor, by all accounts I've heard trying to plant a new world tree and reclaim what they've lost. And the gnomes..." he laughed easily. "Well, who even knows what the hell the gnomes are doing most of the time."

Waiting for the caravan to pass near the front of the column, Perival Manaspark went stiff with indignation, nearly falling off his mechanostrider. He eased the controls back to sit his mount beside Puros's warhorse. "We're contending with the very destruction of our capitol city!" the gnome said angrily. "And what right have you to judge any of us? You say we should be fighting the undead, but you murdered and stole from your own people. What do _you_ fight for that lets you act so smug?"

Nex returned the gnome's angry glare calmly, and for once his smile was gone. "I fight demons," he said. "I fight the Burning Legion, and all factions that ally themselves to that cause. That is my sole reason for living."

"That's why you've joined the service of just such a faction?" Puros demanded incredulously. "Or do you truly believe Illidan Stormrage fights the demons?"

Nex turned that calm stare on Puros. "That is exactly what I believe. I was promised my enemy would be the Lich King and the Scourge, and that I would be given the power to find and destroy demon lords."

"And if your master decides to attack Azeroth instead?" Puros said. "If you find that Illidan is really a servant of the Burning Legion, will you simply flee from his service?"

The lad's smile returned, but now it was bitter. "It's far too late for that," he said quietly, for Puros's ears alone. "If I find that Stormrage has lied to me, my only recourse will be honorable death." He looked away, tugging on the ropes tying him to the saddle. "But I don't suppose any of that matters now, since you're taking me to be executed anyway."

Puros fought back a surge of pity for the young murderer. It had been the boy's own choice to steep himself in evil, and though Puros believed that all Nex really wanted was to hunt demons, his servitude to Illidan had taken him far from that goal.

Yes, he pitied the boy. But that wouldn't stop him from meting out justice.

. . . . .

They reached the tunnel and rested for a half hour or so chatting with the strong guard there, many of whom elected to return to Ironforge with Puros's party now that Nex had been captured. As the gnomes and dwarves prepared to leave the dwarf bitch and her fliers called their "see you soons" and made for the other side of the tunnel, flying over the mountains. Many of them looked eager to be off.

Nex didn't blame them. He'd just about had enough of this damn party of paladins, dwarves, and gnomes himself, and he thought he just might like to part ways with them. Halfway through the tunnel where it was darkest might be a good place, if he planned it properly and utilized the tools that remained to him.

So as they set off, those in front and back and in the middle carrying torches, he planned the best way to go about his escape.

Surprise would definitely be needed, and it shouldn't be hard to surprise them. They thought him weak, drained of mana and staggering along uselessly behind their leader's horse, barely able to walk. The link-stone would change the equation considerably in his favor. At the moment he was debating between surprising them with a powerful magical attack that might eliminate several of them all at once, or with a barrage of confusing shadow energy that would create enough chaos that he could escape and be on his way. He was leaning towards the first, since it would be better to kill them all if he could rather than endure the annoyance of having them chase him for another three weeks, and even possibly capture him.

Killing them would not be easy, of course. Before he'd gotten the stone he would have accounted Puros dangerous and likely his equal. Perival Manaspark, as well, would be a challenge. The priests might be an annoyance if he didn't kill them first, and now there were several more paladins, mages, and priests that had joined them at the tunnel.

No. Killing them _wouldn't _be easy. In fact it was likely impossible unless he got extraordinarily lucky. It was foolish to get a little power and think himself invincible: not even surprise would be enough to overcome these odds.

He abruptly glared down at the whip, lashing out mentally. _Keep your opinions out of my strategizing_. The whip assumed a guileful innocence, and he thought he could almost hear it laughing. It was good to remember that, like any demon, when he was weak the artifact would try to take advantage of him. It was a weapon, and one that could as easily lash out at its owner as at his enemies.

Still, perhaps he could manage attack and flee both. Use a powerful magical attack to slay some of them, and then create enough chaos to slip away while they were still shocked and recovering. He had spells in his arsenal suitable to the task, if he planned it right, it would just take-

His thoughts were interrupted as the ground lurched under him. Then he was on his face in the tunnel, breathing dust as the torchlight flickered wildly around him. For a moment he thought he'd stumbled, then he realized everyone else was stumbling as well, and the ground lurched again, worse than before. Puros's warhorse screamed and danced backwards on its hind legs, the paladin doing everything he could do stay in his saddle, and Nex rolled away just in time to avoid being trampled. Then he had to roll away again as another horse stumbled into where he'd been. Then his lead snapped tight and he was dragged directly towards a panicking horse.

Desperately he gathered shadows, and strength and speed flowed into him. The whip came alive in a burst of flame, its lash whipping out between his arms to slice his bonds. _Recede_, he ordered, pushing it back into its place around his waist and mentally snuffing out the flames. Then he rolled out of the way of another stumbling horse and turned the end of his roll into a back handspring, coming up against one wall and pressing flat there. This was his chance, chaos he hadn't even needed to create for himself. All he had to do was-

Holy magic ripped into him, tearing away the shadows he'd consumed, and he screamed and flopped bonelessly to the ground. He might have passed out, but the next he knew the ground was no longer trembling and his captors were in a tight ring around him, weapons and spells ready.

"Don't try that again, darkcaster," Perival said. The little mage's eyes glowed a dangerous blue-white from the energy within him.

Nex raised his hands and tried to look harmless. "Wait a moment. I wasn't trying to escape there, I was just trying to get out from under horses stumbling every which way."

Puros dismounted, moving forward with his warhammer raised. "I thought you had him under control," he snarled at the priests. "How was he able to do that?"

"Wait, what?" Nex gaped at the circle of angry faces around him. "You've got all kinds of casters among you. Are you all stupid enough to think I had something to do with the _ground_ shaking? How could I even do that, drained of mana?"

"You're not so intelligent as you think, darkcaster," Manaspark said, somehow managing to lower his voice to the range where creatures other than dogs could hear it. "We could all feel the tainted energy that accompanied that quake. It may not have come from you, but-"

"But I'm the only person in the world who uses dark magics?" Nex said, laughing in disbelief. "I was a bit too busy having all my power drained from me to notice with my second sight where the spell came from, or I might have been able to tell you. But if you're going to blame everything that happens in the world on me you might as well just kill me now."

A few of the paladins grumbled, but Puros raised a gauntleted fist to silence them. "Reluctant as I am to agree, the boy speaks sense. Perival, Antono, I want you to try to divine what that was, and whether it might happen again. Jarvak, get Nex back on his lead quick so we can move on. Underground is not where I want to be in an earthquake."

As if his words had summoned another quake the ground lurched again, by far the most severe out of the three. It was all they could do to keep to their feet, and a few horses went down screaming. As soon as the lurching stopped Puros shouted at the group. "Run! Forget everything else! Loose the horses to run on ahead, we don't want to be anywhere near them if the ground quakes again. Go. _Go_!"

Nex broke into a staggering run back towards the mouth of the tunnel they'd come through, by far the closer of the two. He took the chance of gathering a pittance of energy to fuel him, burning it as quick as he absorbed it and so, apparently, not drawing any suspicion. Panicked horses and rams ran past him, along with gnomes riding their mechanostriders. One nudged him and nearly knocked him off his feet before he got his balance.

Then the ground trembled again, and this time it didn't stop.

Above him the ceiling cracked, and stones as big as his head began dropping down in showers of dust and rock chips. Horses were screaming, men were cursing, dwarves were cursing with more experience, gnomes were squealing, and ahead was the wavering light of the tunnel's mouth. Nex gathered more shadows and burst into a sprint, running as fast as his legs could carry him. Behind he could hear the tramp of booted feet, and a few men were ahead of him, although in their heavy plate he was quickly passing them by.

A rock bigger than a horse dropped near the mouth of the tunnel, crushing a hapless gnome who happened to be passing at the moment. Nex leapt, dodging another falling rock. The whip uncoiled of its own accord, the tip snapping up to bat aside a slab that easily weighed twice what he did. Since the handle remained wrapped around his waist he was pushed aside as much as the rock was, which aided him in dodging again as the entire right wall of the tunnel collapsed inwards.

Then he was outside and running free in the sun, boulders from the hillside above tumbling past and a deafening rumble coming from the cave. The lurching earth caught at his feet and tripped him, knocking him headlong, and before he could get up a weight fell atop him, not a stone but a paladin.

"That's far enough, lad," Puros growled.

Nex lay on the ground, panting, letting his mana drain out of him before it could be burned. The earth was quivering so hard that it nearly tore the two of them apart a few times, and every time Puros bounced into the air he landed atop him hard enough to drive the wind from his lungs.

Nex ignored all of that, because with his second sight he could tell where the source of overwhelming demonic energy that was sundering the earth was coming from.

"It's coming from the north," he told the paladin atop him. "Far, far to the north. And it's more power than I ever knew could be wielded. It must be a demon lord."


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

For Dalaran

"Kill the wretch and be done with it, I say," Jarvak snarled.

The quaking had finally settled down, after a terrifying fifteen minutes where it felt as if the earth was going to tear itself apart. All during that time Puros and his paladins had endured listening to screams from the collapsed mouth of the tunnel, unable to go to the aid of the people trapped and injured there for fear of further collapse. The dwarves, however, had ignored the personal risk and worked at clearing the tunnel and getting their people out even as it collapsed more around them, killing a few who might have gotten away. Puros felt guilty about ordering his men to stay back during it, but three people saved to lose two in the rescue weren't the sort of numbers he was willing to pursue.

In any case, even lying still and trying to stay calm had been a trial, with boulders tumbling by on every side, broken off from the mountains to the north and to the west.

But finally the earth had stilled, and aside from Jarvak, set to guard Nex in case he tried anything else, Puros was left alone to try to figure out what to do about the news that a demon lord's power was being wielded in the north. Everyone else had gone to lend aid to the dwarves, and Puros felt he should as well. He should, but what would he do about the demon hunter's news, and the fact that this mysterious power had nearly torn Azeroth asunder? If it was a true danger the call for aid would be going out to every land, and Puros would have answered it were he in Stormwind. He couldn't in good conscience ignore it now, when his aid might be needed.

"Did you hear me, my Lord? We need to kill him."

Puros sighed, turning his attention to Jarvak. "We can't kill a prisoner in cold blood."

The young paladin scowled. "No, my Lord. What we _can't_ do is ignore the fact that a monstrous power, which our unwilling expert on demons just _told_ us is a demon lord, just tried to destroy Azeroth. We have to go north immediately to help, and I won't take every step of that road with this dishonorable backstabber walking behind me!"

Nex, from where he lay bound and shackled by priest spells, raised his head and stared expressionlessly at them both. "If I'm the dishonorable one, why is it I've meekly allowed you to take me prisoner, and offered no resistance, while you've repeatedly mishandled and tried to kill me?"

Jarvak looked away. "Justice must be done."

The pale youth smiled mockingly. "I thought justice was taking me back to Stormwind to be executed. Where do the beatings, starvations, and requests for my murder come into that?"

The paladin went pale with anger, and Puros feared he would again beat Nex. While he couldn't argue that the demon hunter seemed to invite such treatment, he did have a point about its dishonorable nature. "Enough, Jarvak," he said sharply. "Go aid our brothers. I'll keep the boy here."

Nex leaned back, face becoming wooden once more as Jarvak stalked away. Puros sat down on a large rock in the road which hadn't been there an hour ago, deep in troubled thought.

Jarvak had some logic to his arguments. Puros himself didn't want to travel any distance in the company of Nex and his flaying tongue. And while the boy hadn't made any attempts to escape or attack his captors the truth of his nature was such that everyone feared it. And perhaps the fears were justified.

"If you truly mean to go north I should accompany you as an ally, not a prisoner," Nex said, his interruption so closely matching Puros's own thoughts that for a moment he glared at the boy suspiciously, wondering if his mind were being read. The demon hunter flashed his long canines. "I live to hunt demons, paladin. If there's a demon lord in the north he'll have his own demonic army with him. If he doesn't now he will by the time we arrive. You can't afford to not have my aid in the struggle to come."

"There's no proof there'll be any struggle, or anything besides your word that what we felt was a demon lord's power. It could have easily been Illidan's work." For a moment he thought Nex started, and his eyes narrowed. "No protests, boy? Perhaps you know what your master is up to?"

Nex glared at him. "I know the feel of Stormrage's magic. This spell drew on a source more vast and corrupt than even Stormrage could draw from."

Puros wasn't so sure. He was no stranger to deception, and considered himself a more than adequate judge of character. But those dark eyes boring into him might have belonged to a corpse for all the emotion they displayed.

He shuddered and looked away, to see that Perival Manaspark was walking towards them. "What news?" he called to the gnome.

Manaspark broke into a trot and sat down on the same rock as him when he arrived. "It's a tragedy!" he said. "Seven dwarf priests and paladins slain in the rockfall, and one mountaineer. One of my kindred as well, and one of your paladins."

Puros ducked his head in grief. "Do you know who it was?" he asked quietly.

"Kyle Brightsteel," the gnome said soberly.

"Ah." Puros fell from the rock to his knees, ducking his head and praying sincerely. The boy had wanted to be left behind, during their weeks of brutal travel. By doing so they would have surely left him for dead, but was this fate any better? "All of this, to chase a thief and a killer. And for what? The items he stole are long gone, and now that he's in my custody I almost wish we'd never caught him."

"You and me both, Lightfinder," Nex said.

Puros surged to his feet. "Be silent!" he snarled. "You amoral bastard son of a demon's whore!" Nex went pale, though from rage or shame Puros didn't know and didn't care. "Do you find nothing sacred in this life? To mock the memory of the dead! To laugh at another's grief! To...to..." He whirled away. "Do not speak again, boy, or I won't be held accountable for my actions." He strode over to the collapsed tunnel, calling Antono to guard Nex, and made his way to where the bodies had been laid out.

Those dwarves not still working at the tunnel mouth were prostate by the bodies of their kin and comrades, weeping loudly. Dwarves tended to wear their hearts on their sleeves, whether in joy or sorrow. They would grieve as deeply for a dwarf they'd never met as for their own brother, and recover from the worst of their grief within a few days' time, but it still cut Puros to hear their wails.

"Ah sorry, lad," he whispered, taking the young paladin's limp hand in his. "Would that I was faithful as Uther or Turalyon, and could call your spirit back from wherever it's gone. I should never have brought you along on this trip, you or anyone else."

"But you did." He turned to see his brothers standing in a quiet, respectful line behind him. It was Moran Redhills who had spoken, younger than Puros but not so young as the others, and often quiet. "And we came for the same reason we stay, and for the same reason we'll follow you north to combat a demon lord or the Scourge or any other enemy. I was dragged from my sleep on a journey I thought would be only a few hours or days at most. But if we have to travel a month or six or even a year before this journey is through, we'll keep our vows and follow the Light."

"Aye," the others murmured.

"Then we will go," Puros said, rising to his feet. His face was wet with tears, but he didn't care. "As long and as far as we have to, to see Azeroth safe from demons."

A cleared through turned them all around to where Manaspark stood watching them soberly. "Perhaps you won't have to travel so long or so far after all," the gnome said.

Puros's ears pricked at the little gnome's words. "What do you mean?"

"Just that there may be a better solution than spending weeks traveling north to reach the location where this attack came from,"

. . . . .

About an hour later, with the bodies dug out of the wreckage and laid to rest in the ground, and the tunnel itself far too damaged to quickly repair, the group clustered around their makeshift campsite preparing to listen to Perival Manaspark.

Before the gnome could begin, however, the leader of the dwarven guard that had watched the south tunnel stood and extended a thickly muscled hand to Puros. "Before our friend Perival here starts jawing, I thought I should warn ye we don't mean to be coming along."

Puros accepted the handshake, feeling a little disappointed but not surprised. A dozen more men, sturdy dwarf and gnome spellcasters, would have been a welcome addition, but certainly too much to hope for. Especially after the losses they'd suffered. "Thank you for the help you've offered," he said.

"Nae problem. We wish ye luck on yer quest, an' we'll have a messenger sent t' Stormwind t' tell yer people where ye went."

As the dwarf sat Manaspark cleared his throat. "Well I can't ask my colleagues to come with me, with Gnomeregan's welfare at stake, but I for one will continue to accompany you."

"I'm glad to hear it," Puros said with a smile. "Especially since you're the one who's going to get us there. Maybe you could tell us how, now."

"Of course." Perival cleared his throat. "Teleportation is one of the many talents mages possess," the gnome began. "Most competent mages can travel with relative ease to other mage towers and the like. If I so desired, it would be relatively easy for me to teleport away from this place."

"And us?" Puros asked. "I assume since you brought it up you have a solution. Can you create a portal between here and someplace closer to our destination in the north?"

The gnomes seated around Manaspark laughed in scandalized disbelief, as if they couldn't quite believe anyone would be ignorant enough to ask that question. "Portals are a tricky process," Manaspark said. "They require a link between where you are and where you're going to be easily created. Lacking that it is possible, especially if your portal is on a solid ley-line such as the one in Stormwind or Ironforge. But without any sort of external aid for even a team of mages to create a portal would introduce three very real dangers."

Manaspark spark took a deep breath. "First it would be imprecise, as without a solid link you'd have to do very complex calculations involving unstable mana and inexact distances. You'd have no idea where you'd end up. Second it would take a long, long while, and require buildup of both the entry and exit vector. Even with a team of mages you might spend as long trying to find a way to do it as you would simply traveling there. And third, because you'd be building up the exit vector for a long while, and dumping enormous amounts of power into it, it would be better than a beacon for even the most blind of magic users. Scourge, Burning Legion, orcs, renegade humans, and any other faction in the area not aligned with the Alliance would know where we were and that we were coming. We'd almost certainly be walking into an ambush."

Puros waved his hand impatiently. "All right. So you told us what we couldn't do, and spent more time than we have to waste in doing so. I accept my punishment for asking a gnome a rhetorical question related to his area of expertise. So what is your proposed solution? Briefly, please."

The gnome mage frowned at that, looking somewhat affronted. "Briefly? Briefly. Very well then. Archmage Antonidus was very accomplished at targeted location-to-location teleport spells. For most mages their teleportation abilities are limited to returning to fixed portals, generally found in key cities, or very short distance "blink" spells, teleporting a dozen or so yards straight forward. But Archmage Antonidus could teleport anywhere he wished within short distances, provided he had at least a rudimentary knowledge of the layout of the land. Not only that, but he could take groups of people within his teleportation matrices. Unlike portals, fixed locations anyone can travel through, the Archmage could actually include groups within his teleport spell. A sort of teleport en masse, or mass teleport."

Puros cleared his throat impatiently, and Manaspark reddened. "Getting there, getting there! Back to us. I have nowhere near the Archmage's skill at teleportation. I couldn't manage to teleport even myself to some moderately ranged destination that wasn't attached to an established portal. I have, however, seen the Archmage's mass teleport spell in action, and I believe I could take us all to a fixed portal."

Puros frowned. "Which fixed portal did you have in mind?"

The gnome cleared his throat nervously. "Well, it's not an ideal destination, but my knowledge of fixed portals within Lordaeron and the surrounding region is spotty at best. The mass teleport would have to take us to Dalaran."

. . . . .

Listening with some amusement to the gnome's explanation of portals, Nex couldn't help but be uncomfortably aware of the Illidari stone lodged in his stomach.

That was a link to Stormrage that he was carrying around with him. If these fools knew about it they could open a portal directly to wherever Stormrage was. And since Nex could feel Stormrage's magic interwoven through the demon lord's magic that had torn at the earth, it was a fair bet that wherever Stormrage was would be where his captors would want to go. 'To help Azeroth', of course.

He had no problem with watching Stormrage kill all of these fools, but he wasn't willing to give up the Illidari stone to do it.

So he kept quiet as the silence after the gnome's pronouncement stretched uncomfortably.

"Dalaran is going to be dangerous," Antono said finally. "It's a ruined wasteland, at best left deserted and at worst held by our enemies."

"We shouldn't have to fear detection," Manaspark assured the priest. "Teleportation spells are quite difficult to detect, unlike portals. We can teleport into Dalaran's portal chamber, make our way out of the city, and find a safe place to make camp while we search for allies."

"Wouldn't any portals within Dalaran have been destroyed during its destruction?" one of the paladins said.

Manaspark shrugged. "Well there are no actively maintained portals within Dalaran any longer, of that I'm sure. However the exit point for incoming portals and teleports isn't really, ah, destructible, as it has more to do with our familiarity with the location and the ley-lines than with any active portal. So we can go there no problem."

"What if the exit point is buried underneath several tons of rubble?" Jarvak demanded.

Manaspark shuddered. "That, ah, wouldn't be good. Luckily there are ways to prevent such things. I guarantee you I can prepare a mass teleport and have us to Dalaran within the hour!"

"Alive in Dalaran?" Puros asked pointedly.

The gnome flushed. "I assure you the likelihood of survival will be attractively high!"

"And what is attractive for a gnome?" Nex cut in. "Fifty percent? Sixty?" He looked around the group of hostile faces in disbelief. "You fools are actually considering this? Dalaran, as our good friend Antono was kind enough to point out, is a melted wreck, destroyed by a demon lord and now within throwing distance of the Scourge strongholds in Lordaeron. Not only that, but you're going up there after a _demon lord_. No disrespect to your skill and determination, you caught me after all, but a demon lord will slaughter us all without blinking."

Puros shook his head. "After what has happened today every powerful force in the Eastern Kingdoms will be rushing to contend with this demon lord. We will not be alone in fighting him."

"You think so?" Nex spat off to the side. "The Scourge is pillaging unchecked through the remains of Lordaeron and Quel'thalas, slaughtering everyone and everything they encounter, and no one seems in a hurry to counter that threat. What makes you think they'll suddenly come running for a demon lord?"

Puros stood with an air of finality. "Enough. We are going, because as servants of the Light it is our duty to fight demonic influence and aid the defenseless and downtrodden. And you are coming with us, Nothing. And since we don't trust you, you'll be coming bound hand and foot, gagged, shackled by priest spells, and drained of mana."

"You could cut my throat too, if you're so worried."

Puros ignored him. "Prepare to move out," he ordered. "And prepare for battle. Whatever state Dalaran is in, I want to be ready."

As everyone got up and went about their preparations, and the priests saw to Puros's ordered precautions concerning him, Nex couldn't help but smile. It had just occurred to him that, in spite of being captured, he was still under Stormrage's orders to go to the ruined city of Lordaeron. Dalaran was just a short levitation across a very wide lake to the point he was ordered to make for.

And there was also the fact that he was alive until his captors brought him back to Stormwind. From just about every angle he could see, teleporting north suddenly seemed like a great idea.

. . . . .

"You're sure you're prepared?" Puros asked for the tenth time.

Manaspark, kneeling amidst a pile of magical reagents muttering to himself, looked up with a sharp look of annoyance. "Don't you have anything better to do than distract me?" the gnome asked. "The more I'm left to sort out this problem with my fellow mages, the quicker I'll be ready."

Puros raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "All right, all right." Trying not to frown he turned away; the gnome held all their lives in his diminutive hands, and gnomes had a tendency to risk their own lives and the lives of others for the sake of discovery. Puros wasn't comfortable with this at all, especially since every time he glanced over at Nex the man was silently shaking in paroxysms of laughter watching the portal preparations take effect. Hardly a comforting sign, despite the lad's tendency towards actions that sowed mistrust and discord.

Puros looked away from the shackled and helpless man. No risks, he'd said, and no risks his men had taken. Not only was Nex gagged and his hands bound tightly, but his mana had been drained to nothing, and his limbs bound as well with holy energy. On top of all this Jarvak stood behind him with one thick arm around his throat and a dagger at his back, ready to drive home at the slightest unwarranted move. Puros had his doubts about allowing the young paladin that precaution, and he sincerely hoped Nex wouldn't wind up dead, but the truth was that they had bigger issues to contend with, and it was a paladin's right to execute murderers in the wild if they could not be returned to face justice.

Nex had accepted all the precautions and indignities passively, dark eyes boring into Puros the entire time. No matter where he went in the camp, and what preparations he involved himself in, he could feel that unflinching gaze. He almost wondered whether the boy blinked.

Truth be told, he almost wouldn't have minded seeing the end of Nex, even if it was rashly done at Jarvak's hand. The longer he spent with the shadowcaster the more and more unnerving Nex became. For one he seemed to feel no emotion; while his face might at times show expression it was almost as if he was consciously assuming the mannerisms, rather than letting them display naturally. His tone was always even, nearly monotone, though reflecting a hint of bitterness so deeply seated it seemed a part of his very nature.

Every blow the boy endured was shrugged aside, generally without even acknowledgment. His taunts seemed calculated to throw everyone off balance, and even when he was struck or chastised he didn't seem to care, and obviously felt no fear of future repercussions.

But mostly it was the boy's eyes. Every living creature must have a soul, blessing of the Light, but if so then Nex hid his deep and well. With those eyes watching him, Puros could almost believe that if Nex were free he would without hesitation or remorse kill them all. Provided that doing so wouldn't take time from a more pressing task.

About twenty minutes later Puros, sparring with one of his brothers to pass the time, finally heard Manaspark's high-pitched voice calling excitedly, and he led his party over to where the mass teleport would take effect.

"You're sure?" he asked one last time. The gnome glared at him, refusing to answer. From his place atop Jarvak's horse, the paladin's dagger still at his throat, Nex caught Puros's eye and nodded slightly. He didn't know why, but that made him feel a bit more certain. "All right then, let's go."

Perival nodded and fell into deep, focused spellcasting, making use of the reagents and objects of power he and his colleagues had gathered. For what seemed like an eternity the diminutive mage cast his spell, and then all at once he felt the ground disappear beneath him. Rather than falling, however, it felt like a million hands caught hold of him and began tearing him in every direction at once. He'd taken portals before, and they were no more than a chilling wash of arcane energy compared to this. He wondered if this was how all teleports felt, or if the mage's mass teleport spell had gone horribly wrong and the pain was an indicator of that.

He opened his mouth to scream, actually started, and then cut off abruptly when the ground reappeared under him. Unfortunately the ground was tilted at a forty-five degree angle, and he barely had time to curse before he was rolling down a short slope and hitting a wall hard.

He heard horses screaming and whinnying in distress, men cursing, and the clash of metal on metal, but by the time he'd recovered from the ill affects of the spell and gotten to his feet his men were sorting themselves out, and even the horses were calm.

"Holy radiant Light, that was terrible," one of the paladins moaned, pushing to his feet.

Manaspark, standing next to his mechanostrider, shook his head in a dazed way and hit the side of it with his palm a few times. "Well, that's never happened before!" he said. "I expect it was a result of me pushing past my limits to complete the spell. I hope no one suffered too much discomfort."

"Well live," Puros muttered. His head was pounding slightly. "Well, are we here?"

The gnome looked around curiously, then his usually amiable features fell. "Yes," he said quietly. "But by Antonidas's wand, what's been done to it?"

They were in a cavernous room, once enclosed in glass of every color but now open to the sky, the glass melted into a smooth floor beneath them. The walls were melted too, like candle was running from the heat, and the entire room was tilted sharply as if the ground beneath it had been torn asunder. Perhaps from the disturbance of a few hours ago, perhaps in the destruction of the city at Archimonde's hands.

Puros caught his warhorse's reins. "Form out outside, let's prepare to leave," he said. Perival was already out the narrow slot in the ruined walls that had likely been the door. Worried about leaving the gnome to his own devices in an unfamiliar place Puros left his mount in the care of one of his brothers and followed him outside. Or at least out from inside the ruined walls.

The street was no better than the portal chamber had been, a ruin of ash and half-melted walls with no sign of any life. It appeared Antono had been right about the place being either deserted or in the hands of enemies, and if it was in the hands of enemies they weren't the sort to fix it up.

"Oh no!" Puros whirled around at the cry, uttered by the gnome mage. Manaspark had climbed the gently rising street and stood at a sort of crest a hundred or so yards away, staring to the north.

Puros rushed to join him. The rise was actually fairly high up, one of the highest points in the ruined city, and from it he had a good view of the devastation. The streets were broad, more accurately boulevards or avenues, and down the center of each ran strips of barren ash that had likely once been grass and shade trees separating traffic going opposite directions. Between and amidst several of the once-fine buildings were more barren stretches of ash; Dalaran had been a city of beautiful gardens before Archimonde came.

Street after street of once-fine buildings had been reduced to rubble, bulbous and misshapen as if all the structures were wax which had been melted, testament to the demon lord's incredible power and the ease with which he had destroyed the once-great city. Puros felt a moment of disquiet at the thought of another such demon lord threatening Azeroth. Nex had seemed certain of the nature of the power he felt, and yet it was tempting to believe the lad mistaken rather than face such a grim possibility.

Manaspark was staring not at any of these streets or parks, but at a massive ruin that had likely once been a castle or fortress of some sort, although the walls appeared too thin, and the shape of the ruins too fanciful and pleasant to the eye, to be a common fortification. Beyond it stretched Lordamere Lake, the waves of that lake lapping the ruined northern wall of the structure. There were hints that a fine dock had jutted up to the fortress, and a string of ruined berths for pleasure craft lay along that small port. "What is it?" he said.

Manaspark lifted a hand to brush at his face, and Puros realized the diminutive gnome was weeping. "The Violet Citadel," he said sadly. "Seat of power for Archmage Antonidus and the center of learning and enlightenment in the Eastern Kingdoms. Even the high elves couldn't boast such a beautiful structure in any of their great cities."

"It looks to have been a grand fortress," Puros offered.

"Oh yes, very grand. A marvel of workmanship, both magical and mundane. A triumph of architecture, engineering, and aesthetics. It was made of a precious stone, magically worked, that glowed a soft purple even in the deepest of dark. Hence its name. Its gardens were a wonder in their own right, the most magnificent sight my eyes have ever rested upon. The most powerful figures in the Eastern Kingdoms came here, not just to speak of commerce and share learning but for entertainment and leisure. High society was born in the Violet Citadel, and exported to other lands as the latest fashion."

The gnome looked away, expression pained. "I spent two years as a guest in Dalaran, and was invited to attend functions at the Violet Citadel twice. Few honors, before or after, have pleased me so much as those visits. But all that is lost, now. Stolen away by Arthas and the Burning Legion. A wondrous center for magic, no more than an abandoned heap now."

Puros started at the crunch of booted feet behind him, and turned to see Antono approaching, the rest of the party in tow. "Demonic corruption is thick in the air," the priest warned, looking warily through the ruined, half-melted buildings surrounding them.

Puros nodded, unsurprised. Still it wouldn't do to be incautious. He gripped his warhammer tightly and cast his eyes over the city, stopping at last on the ruined Violet Citadel. "Is it recent or from Archimonde's original assault on the city, and if it is recent will it be a danger?"

The priest hesitated, then shook his head in frustration. "It permeates the region too completely. I can tell little about it."

"What of the demonic spell that led us to this location?" Manaspark asked, turning his back firmly on the city laid out in front of them. The little gnome was looking around with a confused expression. "I can feel its residue, but the contamination of the area is too much."

There was a muffled noise from the direction of the mounts, and Puros and the others looked over to see Nex, still bound and gagged, shaking in silent laughter. Puros gritted his teeth, but motioned to Jarvak. "Remove the gag," he said. The young paladin obeyed unwillingly, but the action only made Nex's mirth more audible. "Do you have something to say, boy?"

Nex's laughter cut off with eerie abruptness, and those dark eyes bored in on him once more. "As long as our enemy is demon or undead I am your ally, Lightfinder. And you should be glad I am, because your men aren't competent to advise you in this situation."

The priests and the gnome all scowled, but Puros ignored their outrage. "Then advise me. But don't expect any leniency."

The lad shrugged. "The demonic residue is old, save for the spell our good mage is having trouble tracking. I, on the other hand, was able to ascertain more about this area the first moment we arrived than these others could in a day of effort. This is my area of expertise, and I know what is happening here." With slow, deliberate motions Nex tugged on his bonds, an odd squirming motion. "You should really untie me, Lightfinder."

"And why is that, murderer?"

The eyes boring into his own shifted, gazing in the direction of the Violet Citadel. "Because a lot of powerful magic users died here, and this area is a staging point for the Scourge now."

Puros winced at a sudden pressure in his head. For him it was unpleasant, but when the two priests began screaming, fists pressed to their temples, he knew it was something more sinister. Even Nex was grimacing in distaste, head canted to one side as if trying to duck an extremely loud noise.

Then Gergor gave a shout and raised a hand, holy fire springing from his fingers and lancing out towards a random blank wall, perhaps by coincidence the same area Nex had been staring at before the pressure in his head began. The spell seemed to disappear before hitting the wall, and a moment later the pain behind his eyes ceased. The priest gave a grateful sigh and sank to his knees.

"What was that?" Manaspark demanded, eyes wide.

"Shade," Nex said coldly. "Acolytes of the Cult of the Damned who willingly allow themselves to be sacrificed to gain immortality as the unseen eyes of the Lich King. What you just felt was a psychic scream, the Shade sending a signal of our whereabouts to every undead within five miles."

"What?" Puros cried, rubbing his temples and looking around numbly.

The young demon hunter smiled grimly. "Were I not shackled I could have destroyed it before it even knew we were here, and we would be spared this problem. But it seems to be too late now. And look, gnome, the Violet Citadel isn't as abandoned as you'd feared."

Puros whirled around, staring towards the ancient seat of Dalaran's power, and the sight that confronted him chilled his blood.

The mages of Dalaran had come to greet their unexpected guests.

. . . . .

The ragged nature of the approaching figures gave no doubt as to their nature. They were dressed in the tattered remnants of their once-glorious robes, many wielding staffs, wands, orbs, and other objects of power, eyes glowing icy blue, fiery red, or the bluish white of arcane energy. Dozens of figures, lurching out of doorways and down the broad avenues towards them, while a steady stream of them issued from the ruined gates of the Violet Citadel.

Yet there was something odd about them. Puros was no stranger to undead, having encountered more than his fair share in the Plaguelands. These ones didn't move with the singularity of purpose, the mindless hunger to destroy, that he'd encountered in most undead. In fact, the movements of the non-casters were furtive and cautious, keeping to the shadows and ducking behind walls. The skeletal mages moved with cohesion, forming a line along the street and advancing ominously. There was no frenzied charge, no mindless attack.

He could only assume that, since the undead he'd encountered in the Plaguelands were mostly risen from slain peasants and farmers, they'd been of little use other than as fodder. The veteran mages and guardsmen of Dalaran, however, were some of the most renowned fighters in the Eastern Kingdoms. Perhaps the Lich King took a special interest in such, raising them with some measure of their humanity and the abilities they'd possessed in their former life intact.

If such was the case then the dozens of approaching undead would be more fearsome than hundreds of their lesser brethren risen from peasants and civilians.

Puros looked around desperately for a defensible position, but the only place where the walls were more or less intact was the portal chamber they'd just come from, and that had more entrances than he had men to defend them. It couldn't be helped; the street was far too exposed, and if they stayed they risked getting cut off and surrounded. There was no time to plan, no time to think, only time to act.

"Get back inside and consecrate the ground," he ordered. "I'll delay them as much as I can."

Without waiting for even a confirmation Puros took out his sacred libram and intoned one of the holy seals within. Righteousness filled him and spread to his warhammer, imbuing it with the power to strike down the approaching undead apparitions. Invoking the Light to bless him with greater might, he raised his shield and stood tall in the street, facing the furtive figures which approached.

"Come!" he called. "I will release your souls in death."

His challenge was met by strangled cries from the ravaged lungs of his enemies. From the tops of walls to either side of the street skeletal figures dropped lightly, bearing the weapons and armor of the Dalaran Spellguards. Without hesitation they charged him, all at once, while behind them the eyes of skeletal mages and sorcerers glowed. Far, far too many eyes.

Puros couldn't worry about that now, however, as he braced to meet the undead's charge.

Just before they reached him the half dozen Spellguards fanned out, showing uncanny coordination and forethought. These were no mere mindless thralls, raised by the Lich King and wishing for no more than destruction. They showed a hint of the skill and cohesion their proud order possessed before death. That was bad. And worse, their weapons glowed a broad spectrum of colors, still bearing powerful enchantments that could not save them from the destruction that had befallen their city but now made them a dire threat.

The skeletal guard directly facing him, bearing the gold stripes of an officer on its armor, made a croaking noise, and as one the enemies rushed him.

Puros swept aside the skeletal commander's polearm with his shield and smashed his hammer across in a sweeping blow to the finely crafted breastplate, one that sent his enemy flying backwards to sprawl on the ground but didn't appear to otherwise harm it. Ignoring the creature for now Puros ducked and whirled, then pushed off in a powerful leap and slammed his shield forward, catching the downward slash of a fine longsword and shoving it aside, the momentum of his leap smashing his shield into the undead swordsman and bearing them both to the ground. He pushed himself to his knees and shifted his grip on his hammer to hold it near the head, swinging a short but powerful blow that smashed the undead's skull. The struggling shape beneath him went still, blue light fading from shattered sockets.

A blow to his head jarred him for a moment, and another, more powerful one caught his left pauldron above his shield and nearly knocked him off balance. He gritted his teeth in determination and shoved off from his knees, spinning and lashing out with his hammer in a sweeping 180 degree arc that knocked two of his enemies back. At the end of his swing a jolt went up his arm; the skeletal commander, once again in the fray, had caught his overextended hammer on its polearm and nearly knocked it from his fingers. Puros somehow managed to keep hold of his weapon and let it swing uncontrolled from the force of the enchanted polearm, catching it at the end of that swing and slamming it down into the ground to stop its momentum.

At that moment, when he was off-balance and might have been overcome, a shield of soothing energy encased him, protecting him from further blows. An undead guardsman to his right gave a nearly-human scream and fell back under the barrage of holy magic smiting it. His people, huddled in the doorway of the portal chamber aiding him. But more undead were approaching swiftly, and the skeletal mages were nearly close enough to unleash their spells. One of the Spellguard reinforcements dropped from over the wall of the portal chamber itself, but as it came to its feet its movements suddenly slowed until they seemed ludicrously exaggerated, and a moment later bright points of arcane energy began pelting it in a savage barrage.

The shield the priest had thrown around him rippled from the blow of a Spellguard's axe, and Puros returned his attention to his own battle. Crouched over his weapon, shield raised protectively, Puros called upon the Light to exorcise the evil power that had control of this once-noble guardsman. It was not a trivial spell, and took a few moments to prepare, but he ignored the blows that rained down on him as he unleashed it. The skeletal commander jerked and gave a horrible wail through its tortured windpipe, then jerked again and began lashing out randomly. The spell was not enough to destroy it, but it had apparently lost much of the remnants of its humanity and reverted to simply a mindless monster. With a cackle, eyes glowing a brighter blue, the skeletal commander slammed the polearm down on one of its own Spellguards, knocking it out of the way so the creature could once more get at Puros.

Puros pushed off once more in a mighty leap, hammer poised overhead, and at the height of his jump he swept it down with all his might, catching the commander's enchanted polearm in the middle of its haft. His holy wrath met the enchantments of the undead's weapon, and both succeeded and failed. Failed because his hammer, borrowed from the Order's armory, proved inferior to the Spellguard commander's enchanted weapon. When the two met the head of his hammer snapped free of its sturdy oak handle. And succeeded, for the power behind the blow knocked the commander to the ground beneath it with such force that both of its skeletal legs shattered. Puros landed atop the creature amid the remnants of his ruined hammer and staggered, trying to keep his feet.

It was at that moment the magical barrage finally began.

. . . . .

Following Puros's orders, the priests and paladins had dragged Nex back inside. Now Gergor was standing at the doorway, casting spells to strengthen and protect his leader, while Antono had thrown Nex against the wall beside the door, still physically and magically shackled, and the priest was now trying to watch him and cast spells to aid Puros at the same time. All the paladins had spread out across the cavernous room near the doorway and were now kneeling, consecrating the ground of the chamber. Nex could feel the tingling pain of that consecration beneath him, an itch he couldn't in his present state fight.

"What are we all doing?" Manaspark squeaked in dismay from the doorway. Missiles of arcane energy were flying from his fingertips, and the mage's fringe of pale green hair danced in the unseen current of arcane energy. "Why are we hiding in here when our friend fights alone?"

"Well, his men are in here because he ordered them to be," Nex offered. "I've no idea why you aren't out there, since you aren't under his direct command." He was watching the paladin fight through a long, narrow crack in the wall. It wasn't a good view, but luckily the paladin wasn't moving around much. Still, it was impressive watching the man move so quickly and with such strength, considering he was wearing full plate. Nex watched a barrage of spells from the undead sorcerers and mages strike the paladin, staggering him even with the aid of his priests' beneficial spells, and he sucked in his breath in sympathy. "Don't worry though, it looks as if you won't have to worry about him for much longer."

"The hell I won't!" the gnome mage shouted, and darted through the doorway. Both his hands glowed blue and he was gathering energy for a powerful spell.

"Wait, you fool!" Gergor shouted, grasping at the little mage as he passed by. He missed, and a moment later Manaspark was on the street, directly facing the skeletal spellcasters and countering their spells with admiral precision and speed. An undead guardsman rushed at the defenseless mage and Gergor gave a curse, then darted through the door to put himself between the gnome and the undead, a shield of holy energy rippling around him.

Antono shot Nex a look of disgust. "Does it amuse you, toying with our loyalties while all our lives are in danger?"

"It doesn't amuse me at all," Nex said, letting all his contempt flow into the words. "Your leader was wrong to order you all in here in a defensive posture, and doubly wrong to go out and face an overwhelming enemy alone in some heroic last stand, depriving you useless idiots of his leadership. And you all are wrong to sit there making the ground sparkle prettily while your leader commits suicide, and doubly wrong to keep me bound when you need all the help you can get."

The priest looked as if he wanted to reply, then he gave a cry of dismay and stepped fully into the doorway, both hands raised and face strained in frantic spellcasting. Nex looked through his crack in the wall to see that Puros had picked up the undead commander's poleaxe and was now fighting his way across the street. The fool engaged with a skeletal shadowcaster, trusting wholly in his armor to fend the blows of the enemies at his back. His armor, and of course his priests, who were frantically trying to protect both him, Manaspark, and themselves. Undead were going down in brightly glowing shackles similar to the ones that bound Nex, and some were crying out in agony as holy energy assailed them. But for the most part the four were struggling merely to keep themselves alive.

"Fools!" Nex shouted through the crack, struggling with his bonds. "You can't fight defensively when your enemies surround you!" Why the hell hadn't Puros retreated back to the doorway? Why had they all gone out after him. He turned to face the paladins still about their tasks. "Are you all mad?" he demanded. "There'll be no one left to defend your precious consecrated ground if you ignore what's going on outside."

A dagger slid around from behind to rest against his neck. "No more, traitor," Jarvak whispered in his ear. "You've sown enough dissent among us."

Nex went still, but he couldn't help laughing in disbelief. "Do you honestly think holding a knife to my throat is the most useful thing you could be doing right now?"

"Yes," the paladin said simply. Nex could hear the anguish in his voice, though. "The only thing more perilous than being overrun by undead would be to let you escape to wreak havok. Antono should not have abandoned his guard duties."

Nex jerked his head at the crack in the wall. "Antono just got his left arm cut off! He doesn't seem to mind the pain for now, which shows remarkable discipline, but he'll be dead in less than a minute if he doesn't tend to his own wounds. And the moment he tries to do that he, or Manaspark, or Gergor, will be overrun." The young paladin glanced through the crack, cursing angrily, but he didn't take the knife from Nex's throat. Nex could see the indecision twisting his features. "There's one thing you can count on, paladin. It's that those who consort with demons know how to make and keep a binding promise. Your honor and nobility don't hold a monopoly on that attribute."

"Shut up," Jarvak snarled, still staring through the crack with a pale face. He abruptly thrust his hand through it as far as he could, and Nex felt holy energy pulsing from his fingers. When the paladin withdrew his hand Nex looked and saw that Antono was now surrounded by the impenetrable holy shield that was a paladin's greatest defense for himself and his allies.

"How long will that save him?" Nex demanded. "Twenty seconds? Thirty? I swear to you, Jarvak of the Order of Turalyon, that while the undead remain an immediate threat I will not try to flee, or attack any members of this party. Let me fight, or keep me bound and guard me while your friends die, and then you are slain as well."

"Our deaths would come all the sooner if I loosed you."

"You tell yourself that because for now you're safe, paladin." Nex injected contempt he didn't have to try for into his voice. "You're a coward. You've been wanting to kill me since I was first captured, and have only been looking for an excuse. Even now with your leader and friends dying you'd rather hold a knife on a helpless captive than help them. You're hoping they slay all the undead so you don't have to, and just the thought of meeting their fearless gaze has you pissi-"

"I said shut up!" Jarvak snarled. And blind with rage he slashed with the dagger. It was the move Nex had been working towards. He lurched upwards with all his strength and shifted enough that the weapon sliced his forearm and his bonds, rather than piercing his heart. Not only did the attack free his hands, but it cut through the binding holy energy Antono had wrapped around him and completely loosed him. He drew in shadows, strength filling his limbs, and snapped a hand up to catch the paladin's weapon.

"Help!" Jarvak cried to his brothers consecrating the ground. "Help, the murderer has e-"

Nex bound the fool's tongue with shadow energy, cleaving it to the roof of his mouth. But his warning had reached the other paladins, and they finally abandoned their efforts and rushed forward. Nex stripped the knife from Jarvak's hand and pressed it to the paladin's throat. "Stay back!" he warned. "I'm not your enemy here. My only enemy is demons and the undead which serve them. Those have always been my only enemies."

"Then drop the weapon and submit to be bound once more," one of the paladins said, clutching his sword with frantic strength. His eyes were wild, and even wary as he was they kept darting to the doorway and Antono's shape guarding it.

Nexe traced a finger through the blood dripping from his arm and used it to trace a rune on Jarvak's breastplate. "Kol'gorath mish na'a elguk mibre," he whispered, infusing the words with his returning power. He felt the link take hold, and sagged slightly. "I have linked myself to this paladin. He now has ultimate power over me. As I swore to him, and now swear to you, I bind that oath with my blood. I will not flee nor try to harm you or your brothers. For three hours that rune will remain, linking us, and at any point during that time if you wish to kill me you need only ask the aid of one of the priests, the mage, or your leader Puros. I am certain they will know how to destroy me through the link."

The paladins stared at him with wide eyes, and Nex smiled at them, showing his long canines. "I need to go now. Your friends need aid, and as you can't see fit to offer it I must."

He gave Jarvak a shove, leapt upwards as high as he could, and caught at another crack in the stone, using it to flip up and over the portal chamber's wall and onto the street.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

The Eye of Sargeras

Oh dear oh dear. He really was not suited to this sort of thing.

Perival ducked just enough that the undead's sword grazed his head with the flat of the blade, rather than removing it entirely. It was still enough to knock him to the ground, stunned, and he only had a moment before the sword descended again.

Acting on pure desperation he gathered a surge of arcane energy and _Blinked_, the mini-teleport taking him forward a dozen yards, out of the clutches of his enemy.

Unfortunately there were plenty more enemies to clutch at him, and he'd just separated himself from his group.

Less than ten feet away three undead casters in tattered robes, one bearing an impressive staff, turned towards him with glowing eyes.

What was he doing? He was no battle mage, benefited by hours spent learning how to cast swift and devastating spells while avoiding the physical and magical attacks of his enemies. He'd engaged in magical duels before, of course, and during the retaking of Stormwind and other cities of Azeroth he'd joined in the magical barrage, safe behind the lines of his allies who protected him.

But this...this was madness. He belonged in a tower, setting up clever wards and shields of great power while those with more skill and inclination towards brawling at the front lines kept enemies back. He didn't belong alone surrounded by enemies that had no desire other than to tear his head off and devour his flesh: he was practically helpless.

_No! I am Perival Manaspark, of the Stormwind Mage Council. Vast arcane energies wait at my fingertips, and my enemies have cause to fear_. Holding onto that almost like a mantra to shake the fear those soulless gazes provoked, Perival raised both hands and sent blasts of arcane energy at one of the skeletal figures, each spell more powerful than the last as the unstable magic within him built upon itself.

The undead mage gave a grating cry as it protected itself from his attacks, while the other two prepared their own spells. Perival curled his lip in contempt; the undead had all the power they'd possessed in life, but death had robbed them of their skill and experience. Their spells were powerful, yes, but as raw and clumsy as the newest apprentice's. Wielding magic like a bludgeon was all well and good...

Unless, of course, your opponent knew how to wield a scalpel.

Perival reached into the crude spell matrices of the two enemy casters and destabilized them with barely a breath of power, cleanly and forcefully countering the spells. One, which had been preparing some sort of flame blast, was actually thrown backwards at the sheer force of the countered spell's backlash. Its bones smoked and seared, caught in its own spell, and it gave a terrible cry. But that was not enough to stop it, and it immediately sprang up and began casting once more.

A grating sound like fingernails scraping on rock drew his attention, and he turned just in time to leap aside from a spear thrust at him by an undead guardsman hobbling along on one-and-a-half legs. Without waiting for another attack to come his way Perival scrabbled along the wall nearest him and slipped through a hole just barely big enough, feeling a tug on his shoe as he made it through. He looked down to see that the heel of his boot had been sliced away cleanly.

"Oh dear," he said

When he looked up again four undead were climbing the walls to follow him. That wasn't nearly as big a problem as the fact that this tiny room he'd entered had only that one wall, and from the other three sides undead had caught sight of him and were approaching. Easily a dozen of the creatures, and they weren't coming slowly either.

Panicked, still a little dazed from the blow to the head he'd taken, Perival backed into the wall behind him and pushed the arcane energy within him out into a solid shield. It would protect him from all attacks physical and magical for a time, but each attack would swiftly drain his mana. A quite inefficient spell, the mana shield. He'd done his best to improve it for his own purposes, but even so it was far too costly to be worth it in any case but the most dire of emergencies.

A fireball struck his shield and bounced away, shunted aside by the arcane energy. By some luck it hit the nearest skeletal guardsman and caught the creature on fire: it gave a rattling cry that was quite unnerving and began running about wildly, but the flames didn't seem to be killing it. The next skeleton struck him with a finely honed longsword, the blow again shunted aside and digging into the wall over his head. He was still alive.

At a cost, however. Perival's mana reserves were surprisingly large, even for a mage, but the mass teleport spell had taxed them, and this mana shield was taxing them as well, and with distressing quickness. As two more spells and a powerfully swung handaxe bounced away he ducked into a crouch and pressed his palms to the uneven, melted stone, sending out a wave of frozen energy that caught his enemies' legs and rooted them to the ground.

It was a temporary solution at best. Truth be told, Perival had no idea how he was going to get out of this. Two more skeletal mages had joined the others, and another skeletal guardsman dropped right on top of him, the point of its enormous greatsword leading the way and taking a massive chunk out of his reserves as it glanced aside and buried half a foot into the stone beside one of his hands.

Gnomes weren't generally inclined towards contemplating the reality of their own deaths. Logically such an attitude kept one from pursuing important discoveries, and so was frowned upon. Still, as Perival looked around at his enemies, whose number had grown to a score and were closing in around him, he was reluctantly forced to accept the possibility that he might not be able to survive this.

With that thought foremost in his mind, he almost ignored the dark-swathed shape that landed in front of him, kicking one of the skeletal guardsmen in the chest solidly enough to send it and the creature behind it flying. Perival stared at the figure, wondering who he was and where he'd come from.

His benefactor stretched out a hand towards the undead, and a wall of flames appeared between them and the undead casters. A moment later a burning rope slithered into that outstretched hand, then extended until it hovered around him like a chimera's tail poised to strike. No. Not a rope, a whip, and the flames it burned with were a hellish green. The undead tore through the stranger's wall of flames, rushing forward, and the whip snaked out in a lazy arc around the three closest. In a move faster than a striking mongoose the lash tightened, crushing the three undead together within its loop. There was an eternal instant where the undead thrashed and the whip writhed, and then his benefactor sent a pulse of dark energy through the strange weapon and it tightened further still. The three skeletons within its loop literally shattered, pieces of them flying like shrapnel to throw back the other charging undead. The whip lashed out and flicked the head off one of the closest with almost contemptuous ease, then swept in a broad arc, throwing the others back behind the wall of fire.

His benefactor turned, the whip snaking around his shoulders like a collar, and he let go of its handle and proffered his hand. "Best get up and come with me quickly before the undead renew their assault." Perival gaped up at the pale, ravaged features, the black hair tinged with red, and the bottomless eyes that smoldered with red fire.

Nex smiled grimly. "Don't make me carry you, gnome. I'd rather be killing undead than rescuing reckless fools, and I can't waste my entire day getting you back to consecrated ground."

. . . . .

Puros swung his head violently to shake away the sweat trickling down into his eyes. Not a bit of his armor and tabard were free of gore and grit, and he had nothing else to wipe his eyes with, if the narrow T-slit in his helmet's faceguard would have even allowed such a move. The sweat sprayed out and struck the inside of his helmet with a succession of metallic _plinks_,but now with his eyes clear he saw that once again his enemies were pressing thickest from the direction he most wanted to go.

"Damn," he muttered, pushing away a feeling of growing dismay.

He couldn't quite remember how he had managed to go from frantically battling the skeletal mages, not a hundred yards from where his men prepared their defenses, to panting in this alleyway with undead pressing from the south and east and just making an appearance to the north. If he didn't stop moving he'd be trapped and overwhelmed.

That was likely the reason he was in this predicament in the first place. The last half hour was a vague blur of cracking bones, rotting flesh exploding, constant attacks by enemies on all sides, and pushing into every possible opening to break through to his men. He must have slain dozens of undead to get to this point, though he had no idea where he was, and his strength was swift waning.

He took a step towards the north, the first of a lurching run that would take him away from his pursuers, and a fireball exploded against the armor protecting his right hip with enough force to send him flipping into the alley's decrepitated wall.

He wanted to lay there. By the sacred canons he was tired, as he had rarely been before. It was becoming more and more difficult to call on the Light for strength, to even lift his enchanted poleaxe, let alone swing it with enough force to shatter bones. His body throbbed with weariness that had gone beyond an ache to a burning pain, and among that pain sharper bursts indicated injuries, the one on his hip only the newest but by no means the worst.

With a shout that was half defiance and half despair he pushed the polearm into the ground and used it to lever himself to his feet, spinning with it just in time to meet the attack of the skeletal mage whose fireball, he assumed, had just knocked him on his ass. The undead bore a thick oak staff scribed with runes of power, and the first blow he fended from the heavy weapon sent a jolt of numbness up his arms.

He tried to edge around the mage, to a place where he could move more freely and didn't have a wall at his back making swinging his polearm difficult, but before he could the skeletal caster slammed its staff into the ground and a field of intense cold spread out from it. Puros tried to jump, but weariness and pain slowed his movements just enough that one foot was caught in the frost nova. He almost thought he heard the caster cackling as it brought its staff around to swing once more.

Puros could almost hear Duthorian Rall's voice, the way he had so many times on the practice field. _Those who walk the path of the righteous need not fear restraint_, his old mentor had told him on more than one occasion, resting an encouraging hand on his shoulder. He felt that hand on his shoulder now, accompanied by a surge of holy energy, and his foot came free of the frozen field. As the undead's staff came down in a solid two-handed blow, the creature thinking him still trapped, Puros leapt to one side, planted both feet firmly, and swung the polearm with all his might in a downward diagonal slash. The mithril axehead came down between the skeletal creature's neck and shoulder, shearing through ribs and dessicated flesh with a succession of shivering _cracks _that didn't stop until the weapon was lodged firmly in the undead's spine, just above the pelvis.

As the mage fell in several pieces Puros tugged on the polearm, planting it on the ground and leaning on it like a staff. He knew without looking up that the delay had cost him his opening, and that the undead would be coming from all sides now.

With holy vengeance shining from his eyes he looked up, taking the polearm in hand once more, as the first wave closed around him. "Light give me strength!"

. . . . .

They had not gone far, and had not been gone long, but when they emerged from the ruined building it was to an entirely different battle than the one they had left.

Puros was nowhere to be seen, disappeared with no more than a trail of broken undead corpses indicating the direction he had gone. Nex shook his head in disbelief at the paladin: the group's leader, their strongest fighter, and he decides to go out and tackle the entire undead army alone rather than help his men? It was not only foolish it was borderline dishonorable.

But that was only a minor worry. The undead seethed around the building, easily two score or more, while two paladins defended the front door and the others, presumably, countered the threat of undead climbing over the walls. Skeletal casters stood at a distance from the walls, lobbing spells over them or trying to blast through so they could directly attack their enemies. The patch of consecrated ground stretched slightly outside the walls, and Nex could see the obvious pain, or whatever equivalent to pain undead felt, the skeletal creatures were in as they stepped on that hallowed ground, but it wasn't deterring them.

The group's position looked desperate, on the verge of being overrun. Within the walls he could hear men screaming, in pain or in rage he couldn't tell.

Manaspark, obviously dazed and confused, took in the scene numbly. Then the little gnome gave a cry and darted forward. Nex had expected the impulsive move and was ready, catching the gnome by the arm and bodily hauling him back. "Easy, idiot," he whispered. "If you want to charge in recklessly then learn how to use a weapon and become a fighter."

The mage glared at him. "Are you going to just sit there while our friends die?"

Nex smiled viciously. "Our friends?" he asked. The gnome tried to break free and he shook him roughly. "Think, fool! I can sense the arcane energy within you. You're not a fighter, you're a powerful mage. And you can only use your power if you're not having to dodge enemy weapons every other second. That was the mistake you made the first time."

Manaspark hesitated. "What do we do, then?"

Nex's smile widened. "You cast the big spells, the ones that'll do these endless waves of undead real damage. I'll keep the undead from interrupting you while you do."

The little gnome nodded grimly, his eyes beginning to glow a pale blue. "I'm trusting you," he said. He raised his arms high, calling out a chanting, complex spell, and the sky overhead abruptly darkened. Then swirling clouds began to appear and moments later shards of ice the size of Nex's fingers, razor sharp, began to rain down on the undead.

Nex took his whip in hand and prepared to counter any spells the undead sent at the mage, while he prepared a flexible shifting ward around the gnome's channeled spell to prevent it from being interrupted. That took a fair amount of his concentration, but not all of it. With the remainder of it he began preparing a devastating spell of his own.

He'd been telling Manaspark the truth, of course. The mage could do more damage if uninterrupted, and it was trivial to keep him protected for the moment, until he was ready. But the main reason he wasn't leaving the mage to his own devices and turning his own, likely more effective, attacks on the undead was because he needed Manaspark to lure all the undead closer. It wouldn't be safe for anyone if he unleashed this spell beforehand, and with the mage taking on the task of gathering the undead in range and packing them tight he could focus on getting the timing perfect.

Undead were starting to turn their way, distracted from their assault on the portal chamber. Nex countered a weak smattering of spells, drew a shield around them to protect against the second, more cohesive barrage that came next, and ordered his whip to keep the undead guardsmen at bay, knocking them back and, if it had time, destroying the ones it could.

As the undead surrounded their position, pressing in relentlessly in spite of his defenses, he took a deep breath. Then he braced himself against the heady surge of power to come and drew on the Illidari stone as deeply as he could.

. . . . .

The Light surrounded him, protecting him within an impermeable shield that no attack of the undead, whether physical or magical, could pierce. In his wearied state this ultimate defense was tiring him quickly, but he ignored that for now and focused on destroying the undead that mobbed him, nearly pressing him to the ground on more than one occasion.

Paladins had one advantage when it came to their holy shields. When they cast it on an ally it protected that ally as completely as it would the paladin himself, but at the same time it prevented the ally from being able to do anything. For them the shield prevented damage both ways.

Skilled paladins, however, had a great deal of practice at working within the shield, altering it as needed to allow them to strike out at enemies. Though they had to be more slow and careful with their attacks, timing the shield alterations perfectly, they were nevertheless dangerously effective.

Of course, that effectiveness assumed that the paladin was able to move freely and was well rested. Fighting in a narrow alley, weary and wounded and with the weight of undead bodies constantly threatening to bear him to the ground, he wasn't quite so lethal.

"Light," he panted, lashing out with the polearm and knocking three undead back. Four more instantly took their place, and while he attempted to cast exorcism on one the skeletal figures pressing in on the other side pushed him back against the wall, only the Holy Light keeping dozens of bony fingers from him. It pulsed light like a heartbeat, that shield, but it was slowing down and that was a bad sign.

How long did he have before it failed him? Two minutes, three? The power of the Light knew no bounds, but Puros Lightfinder was reaching the limits of his.

"Light." He planted the polearm into the ground and used it as an anchor to walk up the wall at his back. Then with a roar he shoved off the wall with all his might. The creatures he fought may have had unnatural strength, but they remained little more than skin and bone, rarely weighing more than sixty or seventy pounds. So his powerful lunge pushing off from the wall was sufficient to throw all his enemies in a certain direction back. He landed in the midst of them, still being borne down but with a moment to act, and in that moment he summoned his strength, and the waning Light within him, and in a surge of power spun, sweeping his weapon through a complicated 720 degree spin that moved it through nearly every angle. A storm of divine light accompanied the devastating weapon's arc, and nearly a dozen undead fell back, maimed or shattered.

More pressed in to fill the gaps, and Puros felt his shield pulse once, weakly, then fade away. He clutched his polearm grimly, barely able to lift it, and prepared to die.

A slender shape, blazing with uncanny fire, streaked by him and struck the nearest undead in the head, causing it to explode in a fireball. Half a second later another arrow streaked past, catching a skeletal mage in the midst of spellcasting and setting its tattered robes aflame. The undead wailed and fled, the flames burning it.

"Ishnei alunie de leyin Elunista!" a musical voice called out. Husky, somewhat deeper than a woman's wont, and full of urgency. Puros whirled to see a slender night elf wielding a bow nearly as tall as she was, dressed in dark scale mail and draped by a dark green cloak. She was beckoning frantically to him. "Lelith nabarie, human! Asha valyanoe!" Quick as magic an arrow went from the quiver on her back to the bowstring, the arrowhead bursting into flame as it did, and she drew fluidly and loosed it at a target behind him.

Puros cursed quietly in abject weariness, and with the polearm as a walking staff staggered towards her, arrows flying around him as he did to stop the enemies which pursued him.

. . . . .

The human was laughing.

Perival was focused deeply in his spellcasting, alternating barrages of ice, pinpoint explosions of flame, and localized explosions of arcane energy when their enemies drew too close. He was swift tiring from the sheer magnitude of the spells he cast, and undead were swarming their position and being forced back or obliterated, mostly thanks to his devastating magical attacks.

And still every time he spared a glance back at Nex he felt like a child again, playing with his Lil' Engineer's Polyethylene Gears 'n Cogs while his papa created transmorphographic jigamatrons on the lab bench he played under.

The amount of power the human was drawing in was enormous. Perival had no idea where such power could be coming from, or how the demon hunter had gained access to it, but with every moment that power grew. And as if dealing with such enormous amounts of corrupt energy was beneath his notice, the human also kept his whip in constant action and foiled a large number of the magical attacks the skeletal mages were sending at them.

And he was laughing. Not his usual derisive laughter, nor the joyful laughter of an appreciated joke, nor the helpless laughter of one trapped with no way out. No, it was the same laughter Perival had often suppressed when he'd been exploring the intricacies of a particularly difficult ward and suddenly the matrix came together as if on its own. The half-mad wild laughter of a man standing over the corpse of a loved one he'd just murdered in a fit of passion. The laughter of a man who'd never been drunk before and was now on the point of blacking out and had just slammed his head into the bar without feeling it.

Perival tried to push the distracting sound out of his mind. The undead were pressing tighter and tighter around them, nearly abandoning the portal chamber and the paladins. Perival was keeping the undead back for the moment, with a bit of aid from the humans guarding the portal chamber and more from Nex, but it was still all he could do to halt that unrelenting advance. He wasn't sure how much longer he could do it before he made a mistake.

With growing concern he abandoned his flame spells and focused more on fields of frost, blizzards of pelting ice that slowed their enemies, and cones of arctic cold that pushed them back. Such spells were not his specialty, but for the moment they kept away the undead pressing around them at arm's length.

He started with surprise when a shield of shadowy energy wrapped around him. "Gnome," the human behind him said, his laughter stopped for the moment but a half-wild tinge to his words.

Perival turned towards the human, trusting in the shield for the moment. Nex was looking at him with eyes that glowed bluish-orange, as if flames consumed his sockets even as he spoke. His hair, which had been nearly black with tinges of red thanks to the demonic protections the demon hunter maintained, was now nearly pure orange and seemed to waver as if also aflame. The pale scaled skin that made up his demonic armor had turned a darker hue, and bumps like spines topped his knuckles, cheekbones, ears, and other areas. There were more bumps, larger, that might have been horns on the verge of growing from his skin above his eyes and along his jaw.

The human looked almost as if he was transforming into a demon.

"Listen closely and do as I say without hesitation," Nex said, either unaware or unsurprised by the changes to his body. "Continue holding the undead back with your spells, but at my signal I want you to Blink to the paladins there and get them all fleeing in the opposite direction as fast as they can. I'll hold off for as long as I can but if you're too slow in chivvying them along, or they too slow in following, you'll all be dead." The human turned his fiery gaze back to the undead, and with a start Perival did the same, using the remaining vestiges of the shadowy shield to prepare a powerful frost spell that would, he hoped, freeze all the nearest undead in place long enough to buy them some time.

The spell failed completely, his skill at forming the matrices insufficient to the task, particularly in his distracted and hurried state. He once more forced his mana out into a protective shield as the undead closed in, scrabbling at him with bony fingers like claws. Their attacks were swift draining his remaining energy, his weariness and the costly mana shield making it even worse.

"Perival," the human said, quiet but urgent. Before the second syllable was out of his mouth Perival concentrated his energy and _Blinked_, pushing himself to cover the thirty yards to the portal room. He'd never blinked so far before, but-

A paladin swore in surprise as he appeared within touching distance, and barely stopped the swing of his hammer before it took off Perival's head. Perival ignored the near miss and sprinted between the paladin's legs, into the structure and towards his waiting mechanostrider. "Come!" he shouted as forcefully as he could. "We have to flee this place south and east as swiftly as we are able!"

"Hold!" he heard Jarvak shout behind him. Perival skidded to a halt and turned. The paladin hadn't abandoned his defensive position atop the wall, and was staring out at the undead. "We hold this ground as we were ordered!"

"Are you mad?" Perival shouted, momentarily annoyed at how his voice squeaked. "That human Nex is preparing a major spell, and he told me if we stay we'll be caught in it! Flee, now before it's too late!"

Jarvak finally turned, sneering at him. "Typical lies from the criminal. I'm not leaving this spot until he's back in custody."

"Then die here," Perival replied, and turned and ran for his mechanostrider once more.

The horses tethered by his mechanical mount were whinnying, terrified at the stench of undeath and the greasy feel of tainted magic thick in the air. Perival ignored them and hopped into the mechanostrider's seat, expertly working the controls to turn him towards the southernmost exit out of the portal chamber. He pushed it into its fastest safe speed on this jagged and uneven floor, not even bothering to look back to see if anyone had followed. He did stop, however, once he got to that exit, to glance briefly back.

All of the paladins were mounting and beginning to follow him, leading the packhorses. Even Jarvak had abandoned his post, in fact one of the first to mount.

Satisfied his warning had been heeded, Perival set his mechanostrider in motion once more and charged through the eerily deserted streets of Dalaran, making for the southeast gate.

He could feel the power building behind him even though he was now nearly sixty yards away from Nex's position. Unquenchable gnomish curiosity finally overpowered his fear, and he allowed himself to stop atop a low rise in a devastated park district which allowed an unobstructed view back the way he'd come. As he turned around in the mechanostrider's seat he tried to convince himself he was simply checking on his companions' progress.

The humans were closing fast, and back where he'd left Nex he could see no sign of the demon hunter; the undead were surging over the area like an oncoming tide. He could still feel the power building, however. The humans, seeing him halted, began to slow, and he urgently beckoned to them. "Keep going!" he shouted. "Ride on past me...I'll catch up!" To his surprise the small mounted group did just as he'd told them. He was dismayed, however, to see that only half of those who'd accompanied him in his mass teleport still remained.

Then he felt an odd sensation, as if the air around him were being sucked away, and with a low reverberation as if Azeroth itself had halted in its orbit for a moment the building power surged. In the area where the undead had overrun Nex a wall of blue flame hot enough to melt arcanite spread out in a ring, incinerating the tightly packed undead for ten yards. It dissipated, in its place ash motes all that remained of the undead caught in its radius. The only figure still within that charred circle was a dark shape in smoldering clothing at the center of the devastation, standing with his arms flung wide.

The undead outside of the spell's range surged into the gap their incinerated comrades had made, and with another shuddering reverberation the blue flames pulsed outward again, twenty yards this time, again leaving only ash to drift to the ground when they faded. A few seconds later the spell pulsed again and the wall of flames extended forty yards, nearly two-thirds the distance to where Perival sat his mechanostrider watching like a fool.

He was going to be a dead fool if there was another pulse. Whatever devastation the Demon Lord Archimonde had visited on Dalaran Nex was recreating it, if on a smaller scale. In desperation he sent his mechanostrider springing forward with all speed, gathering up a spell to ward off flames and loosing it behind him.

A _whoomph_ filled his ears as the world around him went blue, and his fire ward shattered. He could feel his clothes catch fire, the skin on the back of his neck burning, and he was thrown forward off his mount and towards the unforgiving cobbles. He instinctively _Blinked_, barely ten yards this time, and then fell flat on his face rolling desperately to snuff out his burning clothing.

After a few moments his panic overwhelmed him and there he lay, cowering, knowing that the next blast would kill him. If the last one had covered eighty yards the next would cover one hundred and sixty, a fibonacci sequence where each successive blast doubled the range of the previous. There was no way he could cover that distance in the scant seconds between each pulse, and no spell his depleted mana pool could manage would protect him.

He lay, waiting for death to take him, until rough hands caught him and lifted him into the air. "You're a lucky son of a gnome," the paladin named Moran Redhills said as he set Perival in the saddle in front of him. Perival had time only to glance around the paladin's arm and glimpse the shattered remains of his mechanostrider before they were galloping down the street, away from the devastation.

. . . . .

Nex had known full well what he was asking of himself when he began this spell. Summoning the hottest sort of hellfires was all well and good, but it was far too unstable to do at a distance, and that meant in order to cast the spell properly he had to effectively put himself at its epicenter. His demon skin absorbed some of the impossible heat, and the shields and wards he'd put around himself a bit more, but with each successively more powerful pulse of expanding flames he could feel his skin searing and cracking.

This was something new to him. He'd never before had the power to cast this spell to the extent that it could actually harm him, and with the way the hellfire was building exponentially within him he feared he could only survive a few more pulses, three at most.

It was a worry he need not have felt: after the fourth pulse, as he was building power for the fifth, the power roiling within him abruptly abandoned him, his spell fizzling into nothing.

He fell to his knees with a scream of raw pain, a sensation far greater than even his burned skin could cause. The sudden loss of the power he relied on to even maintain his body nearly caused his breathing to stop, and the buffer it had provided from the pain was brutally torn away. But even those were minor concerns. More devastating by far was the wild rush he had felt while channeling that power. The hunger to have more manifested as nearly a physical pain, a deep ache in that part of him Stormrage had torn away that refused to be filled.

Desperately he drew on the Illidari stone, and howled again when it provided only the barest trickle, barely double what he could gain from drawing shadows. The emanations from the stone seemed almost subdued, the power within it spent, and while he could feel the power within the artifact recharging he knew he would not be able to tap it for a long while.

So that's how it was. It was good to know it now, when his enemies were largely destroyed, rather than in the midst of a battle when the absence of that power could mean his death. The stone could augment his magical energies enormously for a short burst, but then after that it had a recharge period before he could use it again. The passive power it provided was still useful, but judging from the speed at which it was recharging he doubted he'd be able to use it to its full potential more than once every few days. Perhaps even as little as once a week.

He swore, kneeling there in the street with the ash of dozens of incinerated undead choking his every breath. He could barely acknowledge anything but pain and infinite weariness, the onset of the regenerative trance. The scope of the spell he'd just cast was so massive that even drawing from the Illidari stone was manifesting pain, though thankfully manageable for the moment.

Unfortunately he didn't have time to sit here feeling sorry for himself. As many undead as he'd just killed there were bound to be more out there, and there was also his oath to Jarvak and the unforgiving time limit he'd imposed on it. He had to be within touching distance of the man within a few hours or he was dead as surely as if he waited here for the undead.

He stared down at the inch or so of ash he knelt in, watching as it drifted in random patterns on the soft breeze that blew along the avenue. The sun was sinking and it was getting cooler, which felt nice on his ravaged skin. But this far north it might get cold at night, which would be another drain as he kept his body protected from the elements.

"Damn," he muttered. Then he stood up and gathered his whip into his hand. Through his link to the infernal weapon he could feel its glee at the destruction they'd caused. He quashed the emotions coming from the weapon brutally. _Keep me on my feet_, he ordered it.

Then he broke into a stumbling trot southeastwards, following his link to the paladin.

. . . . .

Coming into sight of the paladins' camp, a mile or so south of Dalaran's gates, Nex didn't receive the sort of greeting he'd expected. When the scout caught sight of him and raised the cry all of them leapt to their feet, and when he'd come close enough to be recognized they drew their weapons. "Get down on the ground and submit to being bound, murderer," Jarvak called out.

Nex looked from one grim face to the next with growing disbelief. Seven remained, of the twelve who'd come to Dalaran. Nearly half their number, and all would have perished without him, yet this was the greeting he received. "I keep my oath to return to you, _after _the aid I offered, and this is how you address me?"

"You return after purchasing your release at knifepoint, to be placed in our custody once more," Jarvak retorted. "Do not think anything has changed."

Nex's lips quirked. "Ah yes. I'd forgotten humans esteem ideals above their own lives. To any sane race if I'd just saved them from certain death I would be greeted as a hero, not named a criminal once more."

"Perhaps for your actions today you've found some small redemption," Moran Redhills admitted from his place among the paladins' line. "But redemption cannot replace justice. Those who do evil must be punished, else chaos would reign."

"Damn your chaos and damn your supposed heroism," Jarvak said, stepping forward with warhammer in hand. "You're a murderer and a servant of corruption, and justice will find you."

Nex swayed unsteadily on his feet, wishing he could collapse and enter his trance. He would almost welcome being put back in chains again, if it meant he would be safe enough to do so. Of course if he was going to be killed that would be another sort of rest, and equally welcome. "That's the blindness of those who perceive themselves as good. They cannot see the numbers, only the absolutes. In Stormwind I slew half a dozen people, and here I saved half a dozen. But you see only the black and white, so you see me as evil and therefore I cannot do good. In your eyes no matter what good I do, for my sins past I must be killed."

"Yes you must," Jarvak agreed, "and perhaps sooner than when we return to Stormwind. That depends on you, demon hunter, not on us. Where is it?"

Nex couldn't help it, he sank to his knees. His burned skin screamed out in agony at being stretched by the movement, but it was still a blessed relief to be in some semblance of a restful position. "It?" he asked listlessly.

The paladin growled under his breath. "Do you take us for fools, murderer? We all saw the demonic weapon you wielded against those undead. I don't know how you managed to keep its presence hidden from us for so long." With that he turned a glare to Antono. It was only then that Nex noticed that Gergor was one of those who hadn't made it. What a tragedy.

The priest flushed at the implied accusation. "The whip's corruption was indistinguishable from the boy's. They must be linked somehow."

"Well we'll remedy that now. Give us the whip, fiend."

Nex looked around the group. Jarvak was the youngest of those assembled, and in his estimation the most useless. "Have you decided to follow this fool now that Puros is dead?" he asked with a quirk of his lips. "Once again your lack of good judgment astounds me."

Jarvak stepped forward and swung his hammer. It was a killing blow, not one meant to chastise. Nex somehow managed to duck the swing, but then his strength went out of him in a flash of pain as he tried to draw from the shadows, too fearful to attempt to use the Illidari stone and have it be discovered, and knowing that the trickle it provided wouldn't do enough to aid him now. He found himself helpless on the ground with the paladin standing over him, weapon raised high ready to crush his skull. On the plus side, however, he was now close enough to dispel the blood seal. He subtly reached out, touching the paladin's boot, and released the seal's energy. That was a relief, at least.

Likely a short-lived one, though, since even though he'd upheld his geas he was about to die. What a humiliation, to face all that he had faced only to be killed by this weak fool after he'd spent all his energy saving his life.

Before the blow could fall Antono was there, catching the bigger man's arms and holding them firmly. The priest's left arm ended in a stump where the undead had taken off his hand and half his wrist, swathed in bandages and splinted, but that didn't seem to slow him much. "No, Jarvak. Puros was the one charged to find and capture this criminal, and execute him if necessary. For you to kill him now would be murder."

Jarvak's red face paled to white in an even deeper display of rage. "Puros is dead!" he snarled. "Are we to continue dragging this murderer along until he finds an opportunity to kill the rest of us?"

Antono didn't blink in the face of that rage. "The criminal did not slay Puros, nor will he escape or harm any of us while I watch over him. You have my word."

_It's not your word to give, fool_, Nex thought. With half their numbers, and feeling the lack of Puros strongly, they would have to more than double their vigilance if they didn't him want to escape. If they realized the danger they were in they likely would kill him, and be fools to leave him alive. Ungrateful fools.

Jarvak resisted for a moment longer, then growled and let his warhammer fall to his side. "The whip, fiend," he growled.

Nex managed to push himself back to his knees, and from that position he shrugged and grinned weakly. "Lost in the ruins. I barely had the strength to uphold my oath and return to you, and when every step is an agony something minor like holding onto a weapon becomes much lower priority."

The paladin snorted in mocking disbelief and dropped his hammer, tackling Nex to the ground. Nex felt hands at his waist, and the whip writhing in preparation to defend him. _Recede_, he ordered it tersely. A moment later Jarvak's hands found it and unwound it from around his waist, lifting it up triumphantly.

"Amazing, how all of us mistook this for a simple girdle," he said as he stood. He turned to Antono. "They're linked, you say? Break the link then, or the whip will be a danger no matter how far from his hands it is."

"Do _not_ break the link," Nex warned. "That is a sentient demonic artifact, one which knows nothing but a desire to destroy. My will keeps it quiescent for the moment, but if you break the link it will revert to its most basic form and become all but uncontrollable."

Jarvak laughed mockingly. "Do you take us for fools?" He shoved the whip at Antono, who nearly dropped it before gripping it with his one hand far from his body, face twisted in distaste and unease. "Break the link, priest."

Antono hesitated. "I'm not certain-"

"What is there to be certain of?" Jarvak roared, taking his warhammer in hand once more. "What is wrong with you fools? Every word out of this demon lover's mouth has been a lie, and still you listen to him? Destroy the damn link, and that's an order!"

Antono hesitated, looking to the other paladins. They all looked away, either agreeing with Jarvak or unwilling to dispute him. Perhaps the priest might have refused had his companion Gergor remained alive, but now he was alone against the paladins, and they seemed to have chosen their leader. With extreme reluctance the priest knelt and laid the whip on the ground before him, calling out to his precious Light to aid him.

"For your own sake, don't," Nex said. "Or if you do, at least take some thought to defend-" Jarvak took a step forward, hammer ready to swing, and he fell silent. Fine. If the only person capable of keeping him from pooling mana wanted to kill himself he certainly wasn't about to complain.

Antono's prayers continued, rising and falling in an odd cadence. Nex felt an uncomfortable tickle at the back of his neck, and the whip was becoming unruly, trying harder and harder to break his mental control. He didn't really have the strength or the desire to keep the weapon in check, so as the pain continued to grow he cursed quietly and stopped fighting it. Antono seemed to sense what he'd done and raised his voice in a final cry, and with a strange numb feeling Nex felt the connection severed.

Immediately the whip snapped up, going for the priest's throat. Antono yelled in shock and somehow managed to get his arms up to keep the lash away, but it squirmed fiendishly and found other ways around his feeble defenses. With a roar Jarvak rushed forward, and the other paladins finally freed themselves from their stupor and ran to their companion's aid as well.

The whip burst into flame, flailing about viciously and leaving black scars on the paladins' armor, seared red welts across any exposed skin, and bloody burns wherever the tip cut. The paladins fell on top of it with crushing force, bodily pushing the sentient weapon to the ground atop Antono, but it was still several long moments before they finally got the thing subdued.

Nex tried to push to his feet and flee in the commotion, but he was too weak, in too much pain, and when Manaspark of all people shoved him back to the ground he didn't care enough to even fight the gnome.

Finally three of the paladins moved away from the huddle, clutching the whip at either end and in the middle and stretching it tight so it couldn't loop or flex. It continued to burn as they began calling holy spells down upon it. It didn't seem to like the Light it was being infused with and finally the flames died out, though the whip continued to jerk in their hands. With more effort they managed to get a coil of the steel wire they used to repair their chainmail out of a saddlebag and wrapped the entire thing sturdily around the weapon until it couldn't so much as twitch.

Nex took his eyes from the weapon and looked to see Jarvak and Moran standing over Antono. The priest's robes were tattered and burned, soaked in blood, and his face was a ruin of lacerated flesh. Nex looked away again, feeling oddly sorry for the man. When he looked back, Jarvak's eyes locked with his.

The paladin stood, face still and grim as death. "You are dead," he said calmly. His hammer held before him like a sacred relic, he started towards Nex.

And Manaspark got between them.

"No," the gnome said. His eyes glowed a cold blue and his hands wove a spell.

Jarvak didn't hesitate. "Get out of my way, fool," he said in that same low, dead tone. "Or do you want him to kill you next?"

"It was you who killed Antono, not our prisoner," the gnome said, and the impact of his words struck the paladin so hard that he halted his advance, rage, denial, and pain washing his features.

Then his expression hardened once more, and he lifted his hammer. "Move, mage, or I'll go through you."

"What will you do, kill me?" Manaspark said, voice squeaking with the depth of his outrage. "Haven't you done enough already? I begin to agree with Nex that you're the least qualified to make any decisions of this group."

"Why are all you fools standing in the way of justice?" Jarvak demanded, glaring at the gnome incredulously, then shifting his gaze to his remaining brothers. "His treachery slew Antono, and many others, and he'll unnngh-"

The young paladin slumped to the ground, unconscious. Moran Redhills, standing behind him wearing a grim expression, tugged at his gauntlet to tighten it after the blow he'd just delivered. "My heart tells me Puros lives," he said quietly. "It tells me, also, that justice notwithstanding we owe our prisoner our lives today, and it was honorable for him to return. I only wish I'd come to this conclusion before the tragedy that has just befallen us. But all that notwithstanding, whatever must happen in the future we will seek out our leader and get his decision on it."

"What do we have here?" Nex asked mockingly. Common sense screamed for him to be silent, but he was too tired and angry to care. "A paladin who's actually able to acknowledge the obvious truths he's confronted with? How does your faith survive such a reasonable outlook on life?"

Moran's jaw tightened. "We will let you walk free among us, demon hunter, unbound and unguarded. But only on condition that you swear you will not try to escape. You've proven that your word can be trusted. An oath to keep that razor tongue of yours still would not go amiss either."

Nex's eyes glittered with open malice as he met the paladin's gaze. "Oh no, paladin. An oath to return after a short while is one thing, but when one allows himself to be bound by promises it does him well to be cautious in what promises he makes. If you're going to require me to swear such an oath, I shall require one in return from you that you no longer intend to execute me."

"That I cannot do," Moran said firmly.

Nex shrugged, though the gesture was sluggish, only serving to make his exhaustion and the pain from his terrible injuries all the more obvious. "As you will. In any case you won't have to worry about me for an hour or so. My efforts in your behalf have left me broken in body and soul, and until I recover somewhat I'm entirely at your mercy." Almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth he slumped the rest of the way to the ground.

With an oath Moran rushed forward to kneel beside the demon hunter. Nex's eyes were fixed firmly on the stars above, though it was doubtful he saw them. No amount of waving his hand in front of that sightless gaze, or even shaking the murderer's shoulder, served to waken him. A trance of some sort, the paladin deemed, some hellish downside to the colossal power wielded in Dalaran.

With a weary sigh he stood, gazing around the makeshift camp at his ragged companions. "Well. That's one less thing to worry about for the moment. Get both of them tied to saddles and prepare to move out. The farther we can get from this accursed city before we must rest, the better."


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

Interlude: The Eye of Sargeras

Puros staggered through the fading twilight, tripping over things he should have seen, and even over things he did see and should have been able to avoid. His wounds were a dull agony, his weariness so deep he feared that if he fell he would pass out before he could find his feet once more.

The night elf stumbled along beside him, his right arm draped over her broad but slender shoulders. She was as tall as he, and surprisingly strong for a female: she seemed to make light of carrying more than half the weight of a full grown human wearing full plate armor. But she had been aiding him for hours now, and Puros had been able to help her but little in their efforts to move forward.

He was surprised when she finally spoke, after being silent for so long. "Yunie melardha avenos," she panted through gritted teeth. "Mira, human, avente!" She pointed to a grove a grove a few hundred yards ahead. Soon after an owl hooted and his rescuer halted, forcing him to stop as well. The owl hooted again, an oddly patterned call that almost seemed like communication, and a moment later she smiled and straightened, bringing him up with her. Puros fought to hold steady as he tottered on his feet, refusing to make a fool of himself by falling flat on his face. "Elunie melathra enna, omarie Fienna!" his rescuer called loud enough for someone in the grove to hear.

A rustle came from the tall oak closest to them, and a moment later a lithe figure dropped to the ground from nearly twenty feet up, landing as lightly as if she'd stepped off a stepstool. "Melathra se Elunie alamorre, seva Fadingstar, mis'huvil telammor!"

His rescuer, Fadingstar, disentangled herself from him and rushed forward to embrace the other night elf, murmuring urgently in her ear. Puros heard the word "paladin" at one point, and "Lumie" at another. From his own experience in Kalimdor and his brief contact with night elves he knew that Lumie was their word for the Holy Light.

When his rescuer was finished the other night elf sagged for a moment against her companion's shoulder, then straightened. "Elune be praised," she said in halting Common, striding forward to address Puros directly. Her voice was lighter and softer than her companion's, but still throaty. "I am Fienna Shadowseve. Mistress Fadingstar was please to aid you, paladin, for part of her task of watch the south quadrant of ruin Dalaran. But all the same we are glad you come. You can heal my sister?"

Puros swayed on his feet, on the point of collapse, but still he nodded. "Your companion saved my life, and aided me in escaping the undead. But even if I held no debt to her I would gladly aid you. I am not the holiest of paladins. The Light has always answered my cries easier for retribution than for succor, but if it is in my strength and the Light willing, I will try."

She looked at him with bright lavender eyes that seemed to gather the moonlight and reflect it tenfold. He wasn't sure how much of what he'd said she'd understood. "Try. Yes, please to try." Mistress Fadingstar's voice came from behind her, some sort of command, and a moment later the slender night elf grabbed at his poleaxe. Puros kept his grip, struggling weakly, and the night elf hissed in annoyance. "Weapon heavy, paladin. I help." Then Fienna easily stripped the polearm from his hands and, as he swayed, got one shoulder underneath his left arm, supporting him. Though she was even more slender than her companion, she showed surprising strength as she helped him walk into the small grove.

The farther south they'd gone the greener and less wasted the land had become, with only hints of the devastation Archimonde's spell had wrought on Dalaran. Still the grove he was led into was the greenest he'd seen: it bloomed with life, green trees and shrubs and even flowers, all healthy and untouched with rot or corruption. In the midst of that grove a wide clearing of soft green grass spread, gently lit by the half moon. He could hear the calls of nighttime creatures, and fireflies flitted curiously through the open air.

Atop that soft, thick grass a fine dark cloak like the one his two companions wore had been spread out, and on it a shape even more slender than the others had been laid and covered with soft pale blankets. A fourth night elf leaned over her wounded companion protectively, though her expression turned to relief when she saw her sisters. "Elunie arrifa halei, Emaille nova innai," she said urgently.

"No, Lisune!" Fienna said, rushing forward to kneel beside her sister. She took one pale hand in hers, then turned and beckoned to Puros fiercely. "Come paladin, please!"

Puros hurried forward as well, kneeling with effort beside the slight night elf. Fienna pulled the blankets aside to reveal that the wounded female was wearing very little, but Puros had no thought for modesty or embarrassment when the night elf across from them loosed a swathe of bandages across the wounded girl's torso and he saw the gaping slash across her chest and belly. In fact it was three slashes close together, as if from claws.

A hand rested on his arm, and he turned to meet the gaze of the night elf beside him. Fienna's eyes were bright, and it took him a moment in the dark to realize she was weeping. "Please help," she said, musical voice chiming discordantly in her grief. "She is only child, too young to come here, but we could not say her no."

Puros looked from the youthful face of the wounded night elf to her three companions. All of them looked as if they could have been sisters, and close in age. Even Fadingstar, whom the other two regarded with great respect, seemed in the prime of youth. He raised a hand to hover over the wound, calling on the Light as he inspected it. Not only was it a severe wound, but it showed signs of disease as well; he had seen such wounds, caused by undead creatures. "Light, what a mess," he whispered. "And I'm already so tired." As he worked he spoke, more to take his mind off the sad sight of this beautiful creature broken before him than to satisfy any real curiosity. "_She's_ too young?" he repeated.

The young night elf looked at him with confusion. Then realization dawned; something in his inflection or expression must have bridged the slight language barrier. "Emaille is a great great grandniece to me. Very favorite. She is barely new to the bow, and hides in shadows like clumsy nightsaber cub."

Puros shook his head, sure he'd misunderstood. "You must have misspoke. You cannot be that much older than her."

Fienna shook her head impatiently. "Am two hundred leaffalls from birth, but Lisune would call me a child still, and Mistress Fadingstar call me a babe. Please, paladin, you heal now."

Puros nodded and turned his full attention to the task before him, raising his pleas to the Light. Such spells required a great deal of both physical strength and strength of faith, and in his weary, heartsick state it was hard to summon either. Still he tried, putting all his waning might into the spells, as his companions bathed the young night elf's wound with clean warm water with various sweet-smelling herbs steeped in it. Twice he swayed and nearly collapsed on top of his wounded charge, but by some miracle of willpower managed to stay on his knees, praying and working to infuse her ravaged flesh with the Light, cleansing it of corruption and putrefaction both natural and unnatural.

Finally he could do no more. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "Perhaps my efforts have helped, perhaps not. But I must rest before I can do more."

"Yes," Fienna said, motioning to her companions. "We are sorry. We help you now." Before Puros quite knew what was happening nimble fingers were removing his armor one piece at a time, and then his blood-and-sweat stained padding and clothing down to his underbreeches. More of the sweet-smelling water was used to bathe him, particularly his wounds and bruises, and then he was bandaged and wrapped in another pale, soft blanket. "Sleep now, paladin. Wake and help more."

"I will," Puros promised, and sometime in the middle of saying the words fell into deep sleep.

. . . . .

He was awakened by a soft whisper. "Human."

He opened his eyes to see to eyes, so dark blue that in the moonlight they almost looked as if the pupils were overlarge, staring at him from a few feet away. It was the night elf he'd healed, Emaille Shadowseve. Though her face was still ashen, and she was obviously too weak to move much, she looked at him intently. "Light's grace upon you," he finally said.

She smiled weakly. "My sister tells me you saved me. Again I am saved by one of your kind." Her large eyes grew sad for a moment, and she looked away.

"Who was it who saved you the first time?" Puros asked. Then he realized she was speaking to him in his own language with surprising ease. "You speak Common well, how did you learn it?"

She gave a low laugh that quickly turned to weak, hacking coughs. Puros immediately rose from his blankets and went to her, ignoring the cry of aching muscles and the twinge of his wounds. He still wore no more than his underbreeches but he cared little for that as he knelt beside her, calling upon the Light and hovering his hands in the air over her bandaged wounds. She was quiet while he performed what further healing he could manage, now that his strength had returned, and when he finally moved back to his blankets her breathing was easier. "Thank you," she whispered. Silence settled over the camp, and Puros had almost fallen asleep again when she spoke. "Both of your questions have the same answer, though it is a tale I do not wish to tell. Suffice to say I have met humans before, and spent some time among them."

He looked over at her face and saw the melancholy in her eyes as she gazed up at the setting moon. He knew that expression well. It was one he saw often on the faces of young paladins, still so pure of the world's sadness that they were willing to give their hearts freely and without caution. She had loved the human she'd met, and deeply mourned her separation from him. He wondered if that explained her presence here in the Eastern Kingdoms, when her companions thought her too young and inexperienced to be on such a mission.

"Then perhaps you could tell me the tale of how night elves came to be in Hillsbrad, patrolling Dalaran."

Those eyes flicked towards him and she laughed again. It was a more pleasant sound this time, and had a surprisingly carefree edge to it. "Ah, human. The Kaldorei do not gladly share their business with strangers. But seeing as we are here, and searching for information, it seems as if we must share much about ourselves anyway. The Warden has abandoned much caution in her lust for the hunt."

She fell silent again for a time, then coughed delicately, as if clearing her throat, and spoke. "My sisters and I came here at the behest of Mistress Fadingstar, our ancient ancestor. My own story began not long before our expedition departed for this land, one of the recruits the Warden had her remaining servants gather, but to truly tell the story we must begin with Mistress Fadingstar's departure from the Stormrage Barrow Dens."

"You speak your Mistress's name with great respect, though I do not know her."

"Few do. Mistress Fadingstar was an officer of the Sentinels under the command of High Priestess Whisperwind for a time, but eight thousand years ago she sacrificed her position of honor and privilege and entered the Barrow Dens to become a member of the Telratha."

"Eight thousand years?" Puros exclaimed in disbelief.

The young night elf chuckled sadly. "An eternity. My people were immortal, once, but no more. Still, eight thousand years is a long life even for my kind. Few aside from the druids and the Telratha have managed it." Her smile drooped once more with remembered sadness. "Though few of the ancient Telratha remain anymore."

He frowned. "Telratha. I do not know that organization, though my knowledge of your people is slight."

The young night elf smiled grimly. "It is largely unknown even among our own people. They have long served a grim purpose many would as soon forget about. In your tongue Telratha might be translated the Watchers. They served under the Warden, Maiev Shadowsong, and it was their duty to keep imprisoned the most dangerous renegade in Kaldorei history."

She paused, and when she spoke again her voice was hushed as if she feared listening ears. "Illidan Stormrage, the Betrayer."

. . . . .

_After the High Priestess's treachery in slaying many of the Watchers and setting the Betrayer free, Lady Shadowsong spent a time gathering the few who remained and marshaling her strength. The Watchers were an ancient and venerable service, with ties to many of the most noble Kaldorei clans. The Warden sent many of the remaining Watchers to those clans to gather up support. Most were deeply entrenched in the battle with the Burning Legion to send much aid, too short-sighted to realize the danger the Betrayer offered._

_During this time the Betrayer ingratiated himself with a strong force of Sentinels operating within the northernmost parts of Ashenvale, which later came to be called the Fel Forest or simply Felwood. Demonic corruption had been spreading over that part of the forest, and none could seem to find the cause. The Betrayer, sensing strong demonic magic in the area, as well as demons to slay, came and led the fight against the Burning Legion._

_You may or may not know the story, but it matters only little for our purposes. The Betrayer found the source of the corruption, a demonic artifact known as the Skull of Gul'dan, and he consumed it, using its power to slay the Dreadlord Tichondrius, who led Burning Legion operations in that area. It was but a minor stroke in a great war, but after consuming the artifact the Betrayer ceased to be a night elf, though the artifact did not transform him into a demon either. He became something more._

_When the Shan'do, Archdruid Stormrage, saw what his brother had become he banished the Betrayer from night elf lands. At that point the Betrayer left Kalimdor for a time. He was pursued by Lady Shadowsong and a few of her most loyal Watchers, while the others were gathering reinforcements for the hunt. This was some years ago, although about three months ago both the Betrayer and the Warden returned to Kalimdor._

Puros stirred. "If he came to the Eastern Kingdoms before returning to your lands, it might have been then that he recruited the man I was charged to bring back to Stormwind."

_I know nothing of that. All I know is not long after the Warden disappeared she returned, gathering up what few reinforcements had answered the call, and pursued the Betrayer across much of northern Kalimdor, all the way to the Port of Nendis. It was no easy pursuit the Warden, Mistress Fadingstar, and their sisters partook in, battling our way through foul satyrs and creatures of the forest the Betrayer had corrupted. And when they reached the port they found a new ally of the Betrayer, foul naga who had slain the kaldorei there and were burning many of the boats. Before the naga began scuttling the boats one was stolen by the Betrayer, who fled._

_That was not the end of the hunt, of course. I have seen the Warden's rage, and I'm certain she would hunt the Betrayer to any corner of Azeroth and beyond to capture him._

_The Warden and her followers prevented the naga from destroying some of the boats, which they took and used to pursue the Betrayer to the Broken Isles. This island chain was the ruins of the ancient quel'dorei city of Suramar, which had been close to the Well of Eternity in ancient times. It was also the location of the Tomb of Sargeras, buried in the depths of the sea by the last Guardian of Tirisfal and raised by the warlock Gul'dan and his servants twenty years before._

Puros started. "I know something of this. It ties closely with my own purposes."

_If you know something of this you are unique among all those I've encountered. But in any case Lady Shadowsong discovered the Betrayer just as he broke the seals on the ancient tomb and went in seeking the slain demon lord's power. She followed him in, leaving a contingent of Watchers outside the tomb to prevent any of the Betrayer's reinforcements from coming in behind them. It was fortunate for Mistress Fadingstar that she was one of those assigned to guard the entrance, for the Betrayer had taken possession of a mighty artifact known as the Eye of Sargeras, and used that artifact to bring the tomb down on the Warden and her escort while he fled through watery passages with his naga retinue._

_Though none of the Watchers escaped that devastation, the Lady Shadowsong used her magic to win free. There on the surface she sent Mistress Fadingstar for reinforcements from the mainland, while she and her Watchers battled the Betrayer._

_That is where I joined this story, for I was a member of the Shadowseve clan, whose ancestor of old was Mistress Fadingstar. We were serving under the Shan'do when the call for reinforcements came, and we answered that call and came to the Broken Isles in time to save Lady Shadowsong and send the Betrayer fleeing before us once more._

_As you have no doubt guessed, the Betrayer came here to Dalaran with all haste, as we pursued. We came in two parties, with the Warden and the High Priestess and the swiftest of the Sentinels-_here Emaille's face shone with pride_-of whom I was included, while the Shan'do brought up the bulk of our forces in an orderly advance. Some two days ago we arrived at the borders of Dalaran just as a horrific spell which threatened to tear the world asunder began._

"I know of this spell," Puros said, "it is what brought us to this place seeking its source."

_You came with too few numbers, and ill-prepared. But in any case we hastened into Dalaran and discovered Illidan using the artifact the Eye of Sargeras in an attack upon the very world. I was set as part of the rearguard under Mistress Fadingstar, told to guard the southeastern quadrant of Dalaran to watch for any reinforcements the Betrayer might have in reserve. I do not know what has happened since, although once I am well enough to travel I and my sisters must rejoin Lady Shadowsong._

. . . . .

The young night elf fell silent after completing her tale. Her face had grown paler, and her breathing labored. Puros once again summoned the Light to provide what aid he could. After she had settled somewhat, and seemed to sink into a peaceful sleep, he lifted his head and started with surprise to see the other tree night elves squatting not far away, watching the both of them intently.

"Information we provide," Fienna said as his eyes met hers. "Now information you provide."

Puros looked from night elf to the other. Though they'd been speaking in Common, Fadingstar and Lisune seemed to know what their sister had said. "What information do you wish?"

"Is about servant of Betrayer you say you bring back to Stormwind. Is also about Tomb of Sargeras that you know something of, what you should not know."

Puros nodded slowly. "I owe Mistress Fadingstar my life. I will tell you all I know of the Journal of Aegwynn and of Nex-thanarak the servant of Illidan. I would offer to let you interrogate him as well, for we had him in our custody when we came to Dalaran, but now I fear all my companions are dead. Our prisoner, too, may be dead."

Fienna shook her head sharply. "Not dead. Lisune say she see humans and gnome riding from city. We will find, speak to this Nex. But first you talk."

. . . . .

Perival drifted in a pleasant haze of sleep. He would have liked to sink deeper once more, but the muted buzz of whispered conversation lulled him awake. He could hear Redhills, speaking to someone of the death of Antono the priest. And then the person he was speaking to replied, and it was...

He lurched to his feet with a gasp, staring over at the flickering fire. Puros Lightfinder, bruised and battered but strong and solid still, stood beside the fire with two female night elves flanking him. On the other side of the fire Moran Redhills and a few other paladins sat on a log, staring bleakly into the flames.

Perival gave a happy cry. "Lord Puros! I'm glad you escaped the madness of the city!" he said, rushing forward to pump the big human's hand happily.

Puros smiled, but the expression had more of weariness than good cheer to it. "As am I. Less glad at hearing the madness which took place here."

Perival shook his head sadly. "That was a tragedy, Lord Puros. A tragedy! For the good priest to be slain in such a way..."

"Yes." Puros shook his head grimly. "But I'm here now, and I've brought allies. With their aid perhaps we can avert further tragedies and do some good in this twisted land." With that the paladin sank to his knees and began to pray, right there by the fire.

Perival watched with growing discomfort. He had nothing against piety, of course, but it seemed like at a time like this to kneel and have a nice long prayer was a waste of time. "Lord Puros, there's something about Nex you should know."

"Later, mage," Puros said, barely pausing in his prayers. He'd looked weary before, but it seemed like the longer he prayed the more drawn and haggard he became.

"I fear it cannot wait until the demon hunter wakes up," Perival insisted. "I do not know how much Sir Redhills has told you of the spell Nex cast which decimated the undead and covered our retreat. But whatever he did with that final spell, it should alarm you as greatly as it alarms me. I know the depths of the demon hunter's mana pool, I've been monitoring it closely for days now, watching the priests in their efforts. That final spell he cast was beyond his abilities, not only with the power he could bring to bear but with control he should not have been able to manage in his state. That he could cast a spell I did not anticipate him being able to, drawing from a source I can't guess, is terrifying. More must be done to guard him than has been done previously now that we know he can call such power!"

"Yes," Puros said quietly. It sounded almost as if he were talking to himself. "Light preserve me. Every path I've taken has come to a bad end since we set out. And it hasn't been me who suffered for it, but my loyal friends and companions. Can I find the correct path? Can I prevent the deaths of more of those who willingly followed me into this madness?" He abruptly stood, face firm with resolve. Whatever his praying had been about, he seemed to have found his answer. "More _must _be done." The paladin squared his shoulders and moved to where Jarvak laid securely bound by the fire, drawing his belt knife as he did so. The night elves and paladins around the fire watched him curiously.

Perival was more than curious. "What are you going to do?" he squeaked, concerned the human was about to kill his companion. That concern turned to genuine dismay when Puros began cutting Jarvak's bonds. "What are you doing?" he reiterated.

Redhills seemed to agree with him. "My Lord, did you not hear my tale? This man tried to murder a helpless man, and threatened murder to his comrades as well!"

Puros didn't pause in his efforts. "And did you never stop to consider that his actions were justified? We feared the demon hunter even when the priests watched over him nonstop. We should fear him more after Manaspark's warning. What can we do now that the priests are no longer here?"

"You can't mean you're going to kill him?" Perival looked towards the spot where Nex had been thrown, still comatose, his dismay growing. "Whatever else his crimes, the man saved my life!"

Jarvak was rubbing chafed wrists, for once electing to remain silent even though his gag had been removed. Puros straightened and turned towards where Moran and Perival still stood. "I always meant to kill him. Nothing he may do can change his fate. As for him saving your life, we cannot always judge men by their actions. Sometimes we must judge them by their being. Whatever good Nex has supposedly done, he remains inherently evil. It will be just to purge that evil from the world."

Perival spluttered, for once at a loss for words. Finally he found his tongue. "I can't believe this! The very basis of justice is set upon proving the wrongdoing of the guilty party and punishing them for that crime. Surely this situation we are in demands some consideration-"

"He dies," Puros said flatly. "I'll allow the Watchers to question him regarding his ties to Illidan, and then I'll slay him with my own hands. If you think to argue, perhaps you should remember that this man saved your life only after slaying your friend Elara Frostheart. And if that isn't enough, perhaps it will soothe your conscience to know that the earthquake which killed a dozen men in that tunnel collapse was only possible thanks to Nex stealing the Journal of Aegwynn and delivering it to his master."

Perival paused. "What?"

The paladin smiled grimly. "Illidan used the journal to raid the Tomb of Sargeras, and take from it a powerful artifact that he used in his spell."

Perival looked between Puros and Nex, undecided. It was one thing to protect the demon hunter against a crazed man whose foolishness had already killed a companion and who was threatening his life. To argue with Puros was another thing entirely. But for all that he might have agreed Nex deserved to die, to slay him while he was helpless, after he had risked his life to save them all...he could not condone it. He turned to Moran Redhills. "What of you?" he asked. "You came forward to defend us before, has that changed?"

Moran looked away. "I intervened when it seemed Jarvak in his anger meant to slay you. My loyalty is to Lord Puros."

"I see." Perival turned back to Puros, shoulders sagging. "If you truly wish to slay this man I'm afraid I must bid you farewell."

Puros's jaw tightened. "Then bid me farewell and be gone from my camp."

Perival hesitated. He had the reagents, and after his rest the power, necessary to teleport himself a fair distance. Hopefully far enough to reach Ironforge. But while he _could _depart he had no desire to leave his companions in these circumstances.

What decided him was Jarvak, finally coming to his feet and moving to stand beside his leader with a mirthless smile directed at Perival and Redhills both. That man would neither forgive nor forget, and he was far too zealous for Perival's taste. That Puros had elected to listen to Moran Redhills's story, knowing all he knew, and then exonerate the man and loose him from his bonds anyway showed a decided lack of judgment. "Very well," he said. "Travel safely in these lands, Puros Lightfinder."

"And may you find your home safely, Perival Manaspark. Know we are grateful for the aid you have rendered to us, and we will not forget."

"No, I don't imagine I will either." Perival turned to Redhills and offered his hand. "I wish you the best as well with your brothers."

"And you, mage," the paladin said, clasping his hand firmly.

After a last glance back, Perival moved a short distance away from the light of the fire and summoned his own arcane illumination, carefully working the ground to his liking and beginning preparations for the teleport that would take him home.

. . . . .

Nex jerked out of his trance with a strangled cry, opening his eyes wide in an attempt to free himself from the images of the all-too-real nightmares he'd been subject to. Grief and overwhelming remorse filled his mind for the felguard he'd slain, every single cut of the succubus's whip he'd made on the demon seeming to sear his own flesh. What had possessed him to visit such cruelty upon...

He blinked slowly, feeling the ground beneath him, the tight bonds which held his hands and feet together at the small of his back. The juxtaposition of guilt and the agonies he'd endured in his lucid memories were so markedly contrasting that he knew the emotions had to be false.

Ah, that was it. With the priests dead the paladins were resorting to their toying with his emotions to make him penitent as a means of controlling him: the feelings of grief, guilt, sadness and remorse didn't belong in his mind. But his mind had tried to put a target to them anyway, and had ludicrously settled upon the felguard's death as a focus for those emotions.

The spell was a strong one, keeping him subdued for the moment, but he could feel his power returning to him, the shadows he'd consumed during his trance as well as the ones he was consuming now. No matter how strong the paladins might be, overpowering his emotions to keep him quiescent wouldn't work forever.

Puros's voice spoke from behind him. "Awake at last, murderer? You woke up at just the right time, for now I know the fullness of your infamy."

The roiling emotions within him faded, giving him some measure of control of his own mind and body. Nex stretched his neck and shoulders leisurely, hearing some satisfying pops as joints loosened. "I guess it doesn't surprise me, evil man that I am, that I somehow manage to offend you even in my sleep." It was no surprise that he was bound again, of course, but it disturbed him somewhat that he felt relief at being bound: he'd been a prisoner too long. Wiggling around his bonds he managed to turn his head enough to look at the paladin. "Or is this the issue with that fool Jarvak ordering my link to my whip severed?"

"Neither," Puros said. There was a look in his eyes, writ across his face, that Nex had seen before and knew well. The paladin patted his pack, set on the ground beside him. "Your whip is safely tucked away and bound with spells to keep it quiet, for the moment. No, fiend, this is about the earthquake you caused."

Nex blinked. "What?"

"You felt the earth tremble!" Puros said, eyes suddenly flashing with anger and condemnation. "You felt it break apart at the core. That was your master Illidan, fool! Thanks to you, he came very close to shattering Azeroth!"

"And this is my fault how?" Nex replied. He wasn't surprised by the news, since he'd felt his erstwhile master's hand in yesterday's spell. How he was to be blamed for it, on the other hand, was a mystery.

Puros spat. "The Journal of Aegwynn, boy. The one you killed dozens of innocents to steal. Your master used it to divine the resting place of the demon lord Sargeras's slain avatar, the one Aegwynn killed in Northrend decades ago and then hid so no mortal would be tempted by its power. Thanks to you Illidan found it. Thanks to you he's taken that power and used it to try to destroy the world!"

"News to me, Lightfinder."

The paladin gritted his teeth. "Did he ever tell you what he wanted the journal for? Did he say what possible use he could have for a memento of the last true Guardian of Tirisfal? That is what your murdering of innocent humans has brought about, Nothing. To give more power into the hands of a demon-crazed betrayer. And now all our world will suffer for your naivete."

This last shook Nex somewhat. "Such was never my intention. Stormrage told me our target was the Scourge, and the Frozen Throne in the end. He promised me we would destroy the Lich King, servant of the Burning Legion, and end the blight upon this world." Puros was unmoved, his eyes dark with anger. "I swear upon my life it's true! I had no notion that the Journal would be used for this purpose. He told me a few lives sacrificed to destroy the Scourge was a small price to pay. Had I known he meant to risk the world itself..."

"The death of any innocent is far too great a price," Puros said grimly. He turned away, pointing, and for the first time Nex saw the two night elves standing in the shadows behind the human. "But if what you say is true, and you wish to atone for your sins, then answer the questions of these women who hunt your master. It will go well with you if you do."

Nex couldn't help but laugh. "Will it really? No, of course a paladin cannot tell a lie, so you must mean it will go well with my immortal soul after you kill me."

The paladin jerked around, shock painted across his features. "What?"

"You do mean to kill me as soon as these bitches have their fun, don't you?"

Puros spluttered for a moment, obviously trying to find some way to refute the claim without being caught in a lie. Finally his shoulders sagged. "Reading my mind, boy? I should have realized it would be a danger with the priests no longer here to subdue you."

Nex spat on the ground. "I don't need to read your mind, Lightfinder. Those who despise bloodshed and yet devote their lives to war to prevent as much of it as possible must always steel themselves up for executions. They can't simply slay a man without a moment's hesitation unless their blood is up and they're in the midst of battle. Your distaste at the task ahead, killing me, is plain on your face. However just you think it is you are still reluctant to do the deed."

Puros's expression firmed with new resolve. "Well, if you know you're going to die there's no sense in having the night elves question you. You have no motivation to cooperate."

"That's where you're wrong, paladin." Nex raised his voice, addressing the two female night elves in passable kaldoreen. He knew he must be butchering the pronunciations, as he'd only read the language, but hopefully his meaning would get across. "Believe me, my Ladies, your mistress would not wish this paladin to kill me. I can deliver Stormrage himself into her hands."

The older of the two females (the signs were subtle, but they were there to a sharp eye), lifted her bow and nocked an arrow with blinding speed. "You speak our language, tainted one?" she asked in musical tones.

Nex shrugged. "The night elves have an ancient and deep knowledge of all things demonic. For any sworn to hunting and slaying demons, to not speak your language would be foolish."

"If your wish is to slay demons why do you serve one?"

Nex shrugged again, letting his lip curl in a wry smile. "I was seduced by promises of power, and enslaved. I wish now only to be free, especially after learning of his attempts to destroy Azeroth itself. If you can slay the corrupted night elf, or at least contain him, I will gladly aid you." He turned his eyes to Puros. "Of course, if you let this paladin slay me your mistress will once again have to content herself with sniffing at Stormrage's heels."

The arrow trembled on its string, and Nex knew the female wanted to loose it. He prepared his magical defenses, although trying to contend with the entire group of paladins and these two huntresses as well would likely be suicide, without the surge of power he could draw from a recharged Illidari stone. A brief glance inward confirmed that the stone was nowhere near to being recharged. "I was tasked to go to the ruins of Lordaeron City, capitol of the nation of Lordaeron. Stormrage was to meet me there and deliver further instructions. Come with me, and I'll prove to you I'm in contact with him."

The younger night elf laughed mockingly. "You prove by have him kill us all."

"No!" Nex said sharply. "I bind myself with my oaths. I cannot break them. I will swear to you that I will lead you to Stormrage and not betray you to him. Then, when you are satisfied that I can truly bring your mistress close enough to capture him, I will do just that." The night elves looked suspicious still. "Do you think me a fool? If I betrayed your presence to Stormrage he would think I had led him into a trap and slay me with you! Do you truly think your mistress would forgive you if you didn't take this risk, with the gains you could have from it?"

"What are you three talking about so I can't hear?" Puros said, crouching to pick up a poleaxe. "Don't talk to them, boy, talk to me! Or better yet, don't talk at all!" He stepped forward and kicked Nex hard in the face, knocking him to the ground with a mouth rapidly filling with blood. Then he stood over him, polearm raised for a killing blow. Stood, and wavered. Nex remained as calm as he could, waiting, and sure enough he heard what he'd been hoping to hear. A babble of night elf voices raised in heated debate.

Then, "wait, human!" the younger night elf called. "You owe my Mistress you life, and she want this criminal to bring before the Warden. Whatever his crime, the good we do by accept his offer outweigh it. He a minor evil, the Betrayer a peril to the world."

Puros hesitated, so conflicted that the poleaxe shook in his hands. "I cannot risk him escaping again."

"We help be sure he do not. Help us take him to this Lordaeron ruin, where we will to see if he tell truth."

Puros wavered, staring with growing anger and doubt between where Nex lay helpless on the ground and where the two night elves stood in the shadows. "Fine!" he finally snarled. "But if we're going to the ruins of Lordaeron, I'm not listening to his damn voice every minute of the way!"

Nex smiled a bloody grin. "You could always-"

His words were cut of as the poleaxe dropped, flat side first, to strike him across the right temple.


	19. Chapter 19

Apologies for the delay in updating. As you can see this is my longest chapter yet, and it took a while to get organized ^^. Hope you enjoy it.

Chapter Nineteen

Treachery

They'd barely come within sight of Lordaeron's walls in the distance when Fadingstar, ranging a few dozen yards ahead, stopped and raised her arm, signaling a halt. She immediately fell into a whispered conversation with Fienna Shadowseve at her side.

Puros reined in, looking around the area warily. They'd had to pass through undead lines to get to this point, and were deep in Scourge territory now. The area ahead dropped down into a deceptively peaceful depression with a few stands of wilting trees, but he wasn't fooled by the lack of enemies. The decrepit wall of what had once been humanity's greatest city loomed to the north and a bit east, around a gentle bend in the Lordamere lake. Beyond that wall he could see ruined structures, but far fewer of them than he should have been able to. The keep itself was a skeletal frame made up of lines of ragged stone walls, all its former glory soiled and tarnished. It wouldn't surprise him to see ranks of undead seething within those walls.

It was there Arthas Menethil had slain his father the High King, his first and many said worst betrayal of humanity. Few had survived the destruction of the city, fleeing past the Scourge that washed over it as King Terenas's crown had rolled a bloody line across his throne room.

The night elves finished their whispered conversation and Fienna came loping back, leaving her mistress to continue watching the area. Only those two night elves had accompanied them on this fool's errand: Lisune had remained in that secluded grove to watch over her improving but still too wounded to travel sister, Emaille.

"Mistress Fadingstar say no further," the night elf whispered, stretching against his leg on her tiptoes to get as close to his ear as possible. "Too dangerous from this point."

"Is this going to be close enough for Nex's little rendezvous with Illidan?"

The lithe elven archer shrugged. "One way to know, human. Wake the prisoner."

Puros nodded and dismounted, walking back down the line to where Nex was bound across a saddle at the back. Jarvak rode beside him, bludgeon ready to use to knock the demon hunter unconscious regularly. By the mess Nex's face was in Puros assumed his friend had been generous with his blows. He felt no pity for the boy.

"Get him down," he said. Then he turned to the rest of his paladins. "Prepare yourselves. We might have conflict to come, perhaps even with Illidan himself."

"What this?" Fienna demanded, appearing beside him with not even a whisper of sound. "No fight the Betrayer, human. Dare not even think to."

"We cannot know how this will turn out. Perhaps when he comes to meet Nex he will detect us, and we will be forced to."

"Then we die," the night elf said with calm certainty. "Whatever happen, do not interfere with demon hunter's meeting with his master. We are only to confirm his claims that he in contact with Illidan."

Puros shook his head doubtfully. "If an opportunity presents itself-"

Fienna's face became fearful. "No, human. We dare not to try capture the Betrayer without help. Whatever suspicion you have about this Nex power, I tell you his master power is far, far greater."

Puros inclined his head respectfully. "As you say. Let us just hope, then, that things go as Nex promised. It would be a first."

"My mistress watch, make sure they do."

With a nod Puros moved to help Jarvak lower Nex from the saddle. Kneeling over the boy, he began slapping him lightly across his bruised cheeks. "Wake up, criminal," he said. "Time to redeem yourself."

Nex made no response. He was obviously in poor condition, and if he meant to wake it would not be for a while. Seeing no other recourse, Puros called upon the Light to soothe the boy's wounds.

Nex's eyes bulged open, and he struggled against his bonds and his gag both with a scream of agony. Only then did Puros remember Nex's words the first time they met, that trying to use the Light to heal him would be worse than leaving the wounds.

Oh well. At least the boy was awake.

Puros tore away his gag, covering Nex's mouth with his hand when he continued to scream. "Quiet, idiot. We went deep in Scourge territory to make your little meeting with your master. Yelling now might do nothing, or it might have a hundred undead charging our camp within minutes."

Nex's eyes, still bulging, finally stopped trying to look every direction at once, and his struggles ceased. When Puros took his hand away the boy coughed a couple times. "Frequent beatings _and_ torture with the light. I'm glad I decided to help you." He glanced back towards the horse he'd been tied across and shrugged within his bonds. "At least my travel conditions were upgraded from being dragged behind your horse."

"Enough banter," Puros snapped, irritated more by the guilt he felt than by the boy's actual words. "Are we close enough to Lordaeron for you to make contact with Illidan?"

Nex looked around at the horses's legs he could see around him from his position on the ground, and past them the upslope of the depression in every direction. "How the hell am I supposed to know?"

"If I cut your bonds, will you swear to not attempt to escape?"

The boy smiled, or at least bared his long incisors. "I'm here to meet Illidan, and allow you to spy on the meeting. Wouldn't serve a purpose if I ran beforehand."

"Swear it, then."

Nex shrugged again. "I swear I won't try to flee from my meeting with Illidan or your watching eyes during it. But really this is unnecessary, Lightfinder. After all we're working together now."

Puros said nothing to that, only gritted his teeth and cut the boy's bonds roughly, then hauled him to his feet. "We're going to get in position out of sight. Once we're ready you contact your master."

"Make sure to hide well," Nex said, striding up the slope behind them and looking around to get his bearings. "This location might work. I'll attempt to contact him and see. Before now he's always initiated contact, but I don't see how that could work in this case."

Puros led his men and horses to a stand of wilted trees and hid himself, even going so far as to sacrifice some of his ability to see the lad in order to be better hidden. His men did the same, while the night elves faded into the landscape a short distance away.

Nex found a position a short distance from where they hid, well within earshot, then without even glancing at them went to one knee facing them and furrowed his brow in concentration.

What seemed only moments later the air before him shimmered, and a transparent green image less than two feet tall appeared. The image bore the appearance of a night elf, save with large bat-like wings and horns jutting from its forehead. Puros could see little because the image was faced away from them.

Puros bit back a curse. An image. That was less than useless to their purposes.

"You've come, though you took your time about it," Illidan's image said coldly.

"You might remember I was being pursued by all the forces of Stormwind?" Nex shot back, equally cold. He certainly didn't sound like a faithful vassal. "Being your loyal servant, I naturally assumed arriving late would displease you less than failing to arrive at all because I was dead or in the Stockades."

"You look terrible in any case, and your wounds are fresh."

Nex scowled. "You might recall this little rendezvous you set up is deep behind Scourge lines? I didn't get through unscathed, though I got through without being pursued."

Illidan's shoulders tensed slightly, then relaxed. Puros wished he could see the creature's face. "No matter. Now that you're here I have a-"

"No!" Nex cut in angrily. "Why don't we talk about the Journal of Aegwynn, and how you used it to divine the location of the Tomb of Sargeras."

The night elf went still. "What do you know of that?" he asked, death in his voice.

Nex didn't appear the least daunted by that tone. It looked as if the near suicidal contempt he showed the paladins was his default when speaking to anyone. A bad and good thing: if Illidan did decide to come kill the boy, chances were he'd be dead before Puros and his paladins could intervene. But that was the only upside to the situation he could see, since Illidan would likely then discover them and kill them all. Nex's reply interrupted his fears. "You took the power within the Tomb and used it to try to destroy the world. I don't know what happened to stop you, but the simple fact is that you betrayed us all!"

Total silence fell over the clearing. Puros thought he heard the clink of metal from one of his brothers shifting and winced. If Illidan heard them...

"So," Stormrage said softly. "You think me a betrayer. Fool, in truth it was _I_ who was betrayed. After all I did for my people. After all I did for Azeroth! I cleansed northern Ashenvale by taking the cursed power that was corrupting it into myself. I destroyed Tichondrius, leader of the dreadlords, with my own hand, and prevented his demonic forces from laying waste to northern Kalimdor."

Stormrage's voice lowered until Puros had to strain to hear it. "And yet for all I've done still I'm hunted. Still _I_ am hated!" Puros bit back another curse and went still as Stormrage faced north. He could see the Betrayer in profile, now, cold aristocratic features and eyes covered by a black blindfold through which demonic green flames glowed. "You are wrong, human. I was not trying to destroy the world. I turned the power within the Eye of Sargeras upon Icecrown Glacier, in the frozen land of Northrend. I would have sundered the Frozen Throne itself, shivering it into a thousand thousand fragments that Ner'zhul's consciousness could never have re-coalesced from. And if the world experienced a few shudders, what of it to destroy the Lich King?"

Stormrage laughed bitterly. "But everyone is a fool. Even my own servants doubt me. My own brother and that Warden bitch Shadowsong arrived before I could complete the ceremony, and thanks to her intervention the Frozen Throne remains intact."

Puros was surprised Illidan was willing to speak so freely to a servant. But then perhaps the rant had been directed more at Illidan himself than at his audience. "Now I know," Nex said quietly. "And I no longer doubt."

Puros's eyes narrowed. He no longer doubted, did he? Or was he just saying that to turn away his master's ire? Either way Illidan didn't seem to hear him. "I must flee," he whispered. "My failure will anger-" He abruptly cut off and whirled to glare at Nex. "Again you goad me for information, Nothing. Well now are you satisfied? Are you ready to be about your next task?"

"If it will aid us in destroying the Lich King or fighting the Burning Legion, as you promised me. That is the reason I joined you, and only that." Nex's eyes actually flickered towards Puros's hiding place as the boy said those words, and Puros had a feeling they were directed not at Illidan but at him.

Illidan ignored the statement completely. "We have a new ally," he said flatly. "I'd like you to do a service for them."

"New ally?" Nex asked doubtfully. "What sort of new ally?"

"The sort that commands an entire race of magic-addicted wretches thirsting for vengeance." Illidan's scowl deepened. "And of course by new I mean prospective. Your service would make them much more amenable to joining us. As will the gift you have generously provided their leader."

Nex's eyes narrowed. "What gift?"

Illidan laughed mockingly, and Puros grit his teeth. What a vile service Nex's was, if there was so obviously no love lost between him and his master. "The Shard of Asteros, of course."

The boy stiffened. "You took my wand so you could give it to a new pet?"

"Don't be a fool about this, human. A wand in even your capable hands has limited use. A wand that might tempt the leader of an army is far more valuable." Stormrage turned away impatiently, staring north once more. "Our new allies are not well loved by the Alliance forces in the area. Up until now it has been everything the Alliance could do simply to hold the Scourge at bay, but a general with rabid dislike for anything not human has decided that our brave new allies are up to the challenge of taking the fight to the Scourge. It's our job to make sure that he's right. And by our of course I mean your, provided you're ready to quit sulking. Minor trinkets will be of no concern when the power of demon lords is at your command."

Puros gritted his teeth once more. Power, of course. It was all these wicked creatures cared about, and a far more believable reason for Nex to serve this traitor than any high-minded talk of fighting the Burning Legion. As if he'd heard Puros's condemning thoughts Nex turned to face south in irritation and crossed his arms. "Just what is this task?"

"Deep in Scourge infested lands a few strongholds of humanity remain defiant against the undead. They're collectively known as the Scarlet Crusade. They are also, by all appearances, a bunch of rabid lunatics. It seems someone high up in their command was angry enough about the fact that none of their supposed "allies" ever sent help that he's ordered his people to kill anything they come across, undead or living. Apparently he's a firm believer in the "if you're not with us you're against us" mentality." The night elf spat off to the side, a surprisingly eloquent expression of disgust. "These Scarlet Crusade people and my brother would get along famously."

"So what is my task? Destroy this Scarlet Crusade? Assassinate one of their leaders?"

Puros looked away for a moment. He'd encountered the Scarlet Crusade himself, and nearly been slain by one of their patrols. Still the bloodthirsty edge in Nex's voice sickened him.

Stormrage snorted. "Don't be absurd. The fools hide behind barricades and struggle every day just to survive. They're beneath our notice. No, your task is to retrieve a spell scroll from them. Apparently many high-ranking clerics of the Order of Illumination were in the Scarlet Crusade town of Hearthglen when the plague broke out." Puros stiffened and turned back. He was familiar with the Order of Illumination, and had even known a few of its clerics in the relatively peaceful times before the outbreak of the Plague. Illidan was still speaking. "Among the other services they've provided has been the development of a spell which allows them to enchant weapons to greatly harm undead. Much the way you enchant your weapons to slay demons."

Nex's head snapped back around to look at his master, and it was obvious he was interested in that tempting thought. "I thought that would catch your attention," Illidan said with a laugh. He went on grimly. "The ability to enchant their weapons with undead slaying spells will give our new allies a much-needed edge in the fight to come. I trust you're up to the task?"

"We will see," Nex said grimly. "How did you get this information?"

"To you, how should matter even less than why. Be glad I was willing to give you at least the why. Now that you have that, concern yourself with the who, the where, and the what."

"All right then, give me those."

"The where is Hearthglen, northeast of your current location. Apparently the most refined version of the spell is only known by a certain cleric named Olivia, that is the who and the what."

Nex nodded. "I'm to walk there, I assume? Through miles and miles of Scourge territory?"

Illidan finally turned, his voice hinting at displeasure. "You are close enough, and I have matters of greater import to attend to. Once you've secured the scroll bring it south to the shores of Lordamere lake. Our new allies occupy the island in the center of the lake as their base of operations, but do not go there yet. You'll find my servants at the eastern shore, and they will direct your actions from there."

Without another word the image winked out.

Puros immediately rushed from his hiding spot, calling upon the Light to fill the young demon hunter with feelings of penitence and ordering his brothers to do the same. Nex gasped and dropped to all fours on the ground, the attack obviously hitting him hard. "An image, Nex-thanarak?" Puros demanded angrily. "This is how you deliver the Betrayer into our hands?"

Nex struggled back to one knee. "It varies," he gasped. "At times he communicates as an image, and at times he comes in person. There is no need to be impatient."

"I disagree." Puros hefted his poleaxe in warning. "We're going to go find this Warden Shadowsong, and then you're going to find a way to lead us to your master."

Nex looked up, eyes seeming to drink in the darkness in a way that made Puros's skin crawl. "Find a way?" he repeated softly.

. . . . .

It was about time.

Nex had felt his power upon awakening. A full day, give or take, of being kept unconscious through brutal beatings. But even so without the priests to drain him he'd been passively drawing shadows, and now his reserves had filled. The Illidari stone was still not fully recharged, but he had power enough.

More than that, he was ready to be quit of these humans. He saw few among Lightfinder's depleting posse that would provide a true challenge, and the elves would be easily dealt with. At first he'd toyed with the idea of attacking them as soon as he was wakened, but decided to allow them to watch his meeting with Stormrage in the hope that their guard would be down after he'd proven himself an ally. Who knew, they might have even interpreted his usual suicidal contrariness as signs that he was secretly balking his master and coming to their side.

"Yes, there are ways I could lead you to him in person," he said to Puros with a dark smile. "There are perhaps, even, ways I could lure him to us in person. Unfortunately for you there are two problems with that."

"Oh?" Puros said, contempt and doubt stamped large across his features.

"Yes." Nex began drawing in his energy, subtly drawing runes in the air before him and preparing a spell matrix. "First, I've been given a mission by my master."

"You mission is bring the Betrayer to-" one of the night elves began.

Nex spoke right over her. "-and second, I'm not your ally, Lightfinder."

With that he focused hard, completely pushing aside the feelings of guilt and remorse the paladins sought to control him with. They were fools, to think they could use that spell on him indefinitely without him finding a way to counter it. As the sluggishness in his limbs faded he spoke a few phrases in demonic, drawing his hands through the spellforms even faster, and then called out to the shadows around him and drew them in. Not to power him, this time, but to cover the area in impenetrable blackness. Even as he cast that spell he drew a shield around him and began pushing power into his demon skin.

As soon as the darkness was complete he dove towards the place where Moran Redhills had stood. The paladin had his pack, and he'd want his weapons before this was done with. That Puros had the whip in his possession was a minor inconvenience: he'd just have to take it off the paladin's corpse when the fight was done.

He'd been fast, and his enemies should have been too surprised and blind to react, yet somehow in the midst of his jump, before his second foot had even left the ground, he felt a solid blow to his side, through the shield, and pain washed up his body.

He landed hard, panting, and looked down to see a broadhead arrow that looked as big as a small spear sticking out of his hip. His eyes darted towards where the night elves had stood. The blackness was complete, but the shadows that created it were of his making and under his command, and his second sight pierced them easily. He could see the older of the two night elves standing alert with a fiery arrow nocked to her bowstring. Though her eyes were sightless in the black her long ears quivered, and a moment later stiffened to points. She raised the bow and drew the string back in a smooth motion, aiming directly for him.

Nex cursed softly and pushed away from the ground with both feet, tucking into a handspring, again in Redhills' directon. Damn elf bitch; he'd heard they did most of their fighting at night, superior senses making them deadly even on overcast nights when the moon was new. And if he wasn't mistaken this one had been one of the handmaidens escorting Shadowsong, back when he'd first encountered Stormrage. If she had been one of those assigned to guard the corrupted night elf in the blackness beneath the ground for ten thousand years then his petty cloud of darkness would be less than an minor obstacle to her.

He felt a gentle tug as her second arrow cut through his cloak, and a more painful tug as the arrow already in him twinged at his acrobatics. He was going to have to do something about that oar sticking in his leg, and soon.

He came out of the handspring into a low roll, on instinct shifting directions halfway through and landing in a sprawl on his back. Another arrow whizzed past, close enough to his arm that he felt it tug a few hairs free. Damnit, that was less than two seconds it was taking her to draw and loose. Some of the best bowmen he'd ever seen couldn't get arrows off faster than every three seconds or so, at least not with any accuracy.

He rolled over and pushed straight up off the ground, feeling another arrow pass by underneath him, and when he hit the ground again he pushed off with his legs, elbow stiff in front of him. Moran Redhills, blind but with weapon in hand and settled back in a defensive crouch, didn't even have time to react as he used his elbow to shove the warhammer aside and brought the heel of his other hand up in a vicious uppercut that caught Redhills directly in the nose. The force of the blow lifted the man a couple inches off the ground and he fell bonelessly in a sprawl. The paladin had no reason to love him, and he had no reason to love the paladin, but at the same time the man had kept Jarvak from murdering him. If nothing else, that earned him the right to die last.

Nex leapt and twisted, landing on top of Redhills as another arrow whizzed by, nearly taking the paladin in the throat. His searching hand found the strap of his pack beneath the man even as he glanced back towards where the night elves stood. His attacker had slung her bow over her shoulder and was charging towards him, a slender dagger in either hand. He had a notion to teach her the foolishness of abandoning her deadly barrage of arrows for close quarters combat, until he felt a warm heat on his back and turned to see Puros in the middle of a pool of blinding light that was pushing his shadows back.

Damnit. He tightened his fist on his pack in frustration, torn between wanting to kill them all and giving in to common sense. He was wounded, still woozy from unconsciousness and mistreatment as well as the injuries he'd inflicted on himself in Dalaran. Furthermore his enemies remained a true threat, and one he would just as soon not rush into blind combat with now that his shadows were being neutralized.

"This isn't over," he snarled at Puros. The human stiffened and the man whirled to face him, but Nex had his pack in hand and was running a zigzag pattern, his shadows trailing behind him.

. . . . .

In the blackness around his circle of light Puros could hear cries of confusion and alarm, but thankfully no sounds of pain or yells for help. Willing the light to aid him, he sprinted in the direction he'd heard Nex's voice from, poleaxe held tightly in his hands.

_Damnit damnit damnit!_ He should never have trusted to his penitence spell to keep the boy subdued. Even the weakest mind eventually inured itself to guilt, and Nex's mind was anything but prone to feelings of remorse. He should have killed him back outside Dalaran, after hearing of Antono's death.

Somewhere in the distance he heard voices raised in the night elves' tongue, calling out instructions and warnings. With any luck the experienced Watchers would be less surprised by the boy's little darkness trick than he had been. He turned in the direction of those voices, since any sign that Nex was being pursued was better than chasing shadows, and at that moment the darkness around him lifted, and he tripped over two shapes huddled on the ground.

He fell sprawling, his armor and weapon encumbering him too much to nimbly dodge the obstacles. When he came back to his feet he saw Moran Redhills, lying still on the ground in a puddle of his own blood with a dagger in his throat. Bent over him, weeping so hard in grief that the noise almost sounded like muffled laughter, knelt Jarvak.

Puros stared at the scene in shock, and then a haze of red rage filmed his vision. He turned blindly from the body of his dead friend and plunged into the woods following the continued calls of the night elves. Nex was going to die, and no more foolishness with Illidan and Fadingstar was going to save him from justice this time.

He was running up a slope out of the depression to the north, Lordaeron's walls looming ominously directly in front of him, when a lithe shape darted out of the shadows to one side and blocked his way. Puros raised his poleaxe and sped up to a charging sprint, weapon ready to swing, but skidded to a halt when he realized it was Fienna blocking his way.

"We return, human," she said urgently.

Puros shook his head grimly. "Not this time, woman. Out of my way."

"No!" she said forcefully. "We cannot chase Betrayer's servant this way. We return, gather men for orderly hunt."

"I'll be damned if I will! I went the orderly hunt route the first time, and spent three weeks trying to catch the tireless bastard while I ran my men and horses ragged in the effort." Puros tightened his grip on his weapons, barely seeing the night elf in his rage. "Get out of my way!"

Fadingstar appeared as if from nowhere on the slope ahead, babbling in Kaldoreen. Fienna shook her head and called something back. "What good you do, chase alone while your men have no leader? You not even have horse. The Scourge find you, or by some miracle you catch this Nex and he kill. Come back, there is better way."

Puros hesitated, eyes burning with unshed tears, but finally he lowered his weapon and turned away. It was her appeal to his leadership that had swayed him; he'd failed his men in Dalaran, nearly to their doom. He'd be damned if he did it again.

. . . . .

Except he had.

As his men recovered from the confusion and prepared to move out Puros knelt over Moran's body, tears streaming freely from his eyes, consumed with grief. All his foolishness seemed to find a focal point in his slain friend. His desire to bring Nex back to Stormwind, his desire to aid the night elves by using Nex to capture Illidan, every time he'd thought to slay the demon hunter and let mercy hold him back.

Every mistake rebuked him as he looked at Moran's pale, lifeless face, the thick, heavy-bladed dagger he recognized as one of the weapons Nex used, which Moran had been tasked with carrying along with Nex's other possessions. The pack was gone, and obviously the boy had killed Moran before he fled with it.

He looked up at his four remaining brothers, all kneeling around their fallen comrade as well. "No more," he said harshly.

Jarvak gaped at him. "My Lord, we cannot simply give up the-"

"_I said nothing of giving up the hunt_!" Puros roared, lurching to his feet. "The time for capturing this fiend is done with. We will find him, if we have to hunt across this world and every other. And when we find him we'll attack him with the intent to slay him, no matter whether he surrenders, resists, or flees!"

"No!" Fienna said. Puros whirled on her, and his expression must have been terrible for she flinched. Yet still she stood her ground. "Why slay, why alone human? Come with us. We can find Lady Shadowsong and tell her of this Nex, and she help you capture him and kill. She hate the Betrayer and all his servants, she will aid you even if it not does benefit her."

Puros shook his head. "I'll brook no delays and take no more chances. He must die, quickly, and no more attempts to use him to capture Illidan, or make deals with him. He's already proven himself too adept at escaping to take the risk."

"No risk. Lady Shadowsong is strong. Betrayer flee from her. She capture Nex and use him, then she kill him. Come with us and see." Her lavender eyes were shrewd. "You think you catch and kill him alone? Just five now? He run like he do now, and you chase forever, or he kill, and no justice for him!"

Puros stared at the night elf darkly for a long, long moment. His emotions were in such a confused state that he was torn between running off in pursuit again and simply collapsing in weary despair. "Will your lady swear to slay Nex when she is done with him?"

"No need swear. The Warden kill all servant of Illidan. Come with us and see."

Puros hesitated a moment more, then looked around at his pale, grieving men. They truly did not have the strength any longer to keep Nex subdued, or even to slay him outright. A powerful ally could perhaps allow them to fulfill their purpose without having to lose any more of his men.

It was that which decided him: enough good men had died already, he had no desire to see more perish. "Very well," he said. "Where do we go?"

"South," Fienna said firmly. "Lady Shadowsong there."

Puros stared north, feeling a moment of anguish. Their quarry was fleeing, and their allies wanted them to go the opposite direction? His heart told him that it was the wrong decision. But at the same time if Maiev Shadowsong pursued Illidan as relentlessly as her servants claimed, no matter how far or fast Nex fled they'd eventually catch him.

"Then let's delay no longer," he said. "We'll bring Moran's body with us so that it won't be defiled by undead. I failed him, but I can do that much at least."

. . . . .

Two days later Puros reined in as an owl burst fluttering from the trees ahead and winged towards them. It was a large bird, perhaps a great horned owl or a hawk owl, sleek and powerful. "An owl by day?" he said dubiously. "That cannot be natural."

"And so it is not," Emaille Shadowseve said from her place in the litter they'd slung between his warhorse and Moran Redhills'. Though still too weak to travel, the young Sentinel was looking much improved after the days they had been parted. Pursing her full lips she whistled piercingly, and the owl hooted a few more times and fluttered over to land on the litter at the young night elf's feet. A long conversation followed, full of hoots and screeches from the owl, and clucks and whistles from the night elf. Puros could only listen in helpless bewilderment.

Agreeing with Mistress Fadingstar's conclusion that the best way to pursue Nex would be to report back to the Warden, Maiev Shadowsong, they had made their way back south and east along Lordamere lake and met up with Emaille and Fienna in the original grove the night elves had made their main camp. There they had taken a few moments to bury Moran Redhills and hold a graveside ceremony. That had been late last night, as the elves preferred to travel by dark and in these dangerous lands Puros was content to follow their lead. But now it was midafternoon, closing in on evening, and they'd been traveling for nearly four hours now. The three elder night elves were ranging far ahead and to either side, searching for clues as to their leader's whereabouts, while the paladins and the wounded Emaille had been left to follow as best they could.

This owl was the first sign they'd had of their absent partners, and from the way Emaille's expression brightened then fell he knew the owl was doing more than simply reporting the Sentinels' efforts.

The massive owl suddenly flapped its wings ponderously and took to the air, giving a farewell hoot as it winged away in a different direction than the one it had come from. "News?" Puros asked.

"Yes," Emaille said, still looking troubled. "Lady Shadowsong has been found. We must leave the road here, and travel through some thick forest for a fair distance. I will lead the way."

Under the young night elf's guidance the paladins cut away from the road to the left, due west, directly for a large patch of forest. They approached it without too much difficulty, and even found a narrow track which Emaille reported cut through the trees more or less in the direction they wanted to go. But they hadn't gone far along the track before they encountered a problem: it had not been wide to begin with, but now it narrowed to the point that even riding single file would be difficult.

Puros halted the group. "We can either cut back and find a place where the forest is less thick, or we'll have to break down the litter and carry you in front of one of us."

The night elf struggled to sit, holding his boot as she did and wincing in pain. "I'm strong enough to ride alone," she said stubbornly.

Puros snorted, very much doubting that. "Have you ever ridden a horse before?"

Emaille looked away. "I've ridden nightsabers," she mumbled. "Were we in Ashenvale and I on Shadowtread few would be able to catch me."

"Perhaps. But we're in Silverpine and you don't know how to ride a horse." Puros dismounted, motioning for Jarvak to aid him, and together they untied the litter and set it gently on the ground. Then Puros mounted once more and held out his arms. "Lift her up to me."

The young female's full lips tightened in annoyance, but she offered no protest as her cloak was wrapped snugly around her and she was lifted up onto the saddle in front of him. Puros wrapped one arm around her and held her close so she wouldn't be jostled, using the other to hold the reins and using his legs more to guide the trained mount. As they set out he noticed that Emaille's face was flushed. "Are you in too much pain?" he asked, concerned and angry with himself for not asking sooner. "We can stop if you-"

"I'm not in pain," she snapped. It was only when Puros heard the embarrassment in her voice that he realized the nature of her discomfort. He said nothing more, but he didn't have to. After a few minutes of riding the young night elf spoke.

"I'm not accustomed to this," she said. "It's been a very long time, and the only human's arms I've ever been held in were..." she cut off, reddening further, and tucked her face into her cloak. Puros wondered just how young she was; she had obviously loved the human she'd been parted with greatly.

"What was his name?" he asked.

She jerked slightly in his arms, one of her long ears nearly poking him in the eye. Her deep blue eyes raised to meet his, flashing, and some of the red had faded from her cheeks. "What did you just ask?" she demanded.

Puros chuckled. He'd devoted his life to protecting Azeroth, and in the madness of war had never had time for a wife or children, but still he felt a bit of fatherly amusement at the young night elf's embarrassment. "I can see in your face how much you loved the human you met. And how sad you were to be parted from him. What was his name?"

Emaille scowled at him for an uncomfortably long moment, then looked away. "His name _is _Baran Oaksieve," she said. "He was a strong fighter, though clumsy as a bear. But I am certain he lived. In the battle at Mount Hyjal the human camp was overrun first, before the orcs or our own camp near the summit. But the Lady Proudmoore managed to escape with a few dozen soldiers after their lines broke, and I'm sure Baran made it with her."

Puros felt a surge of pity for the girl. He'd been one of those who'd escaped with Jaina Proudmoore, and he had no memory of any soldier by that name. But in that chaos many he didn't know had been snatched up in Jaina's teleport, and it was possible Emaille's beloved was with them. "Lady Proudmoore has established herself in Theramore, not far south of Ashenvale. Have you tried to locate him there?"

She looked away. "I don't wish to speak of this anymore," she said, voice thick with pain. So, perhaps she knew without knowing that her beloved was dead.

They traveled in silence for a long while after that, stopping to rest and water the horses at a small stream the narrow trail passed through. Puros drank from the stream as well, enjoying the cool water, and brought a canteen of it to where they'd laid the young night elf in a swath of soft grass. He was helping her drink from it when a smooth, flowing male voice called out in Kaldoreen from above them.

Puros looked up to the treetops, searching among the branches for whoever had hailed them. There was nothing to be seen save for a surprisingly large, glossy crow perched nearly over their heads, watching them with beady eyes.

Emaille saw the crow and called out to it in the same language, some sort of glad greeting. The crow replied, somehow forming the words with its razor sharp beak, then hopped off the branch and glided towards them. In mid-flight it began spinning in a swirl of feathers, and by the time it touched lightly to the ground it had shapeshifted into a bearded male night elf wearing a thick cloak sewn with glossy black and purple raven's feathers.

The male threw the cloak back over one shoulder, a hand on his hip, and struck a somewhat arrogant pose, asking a question in that same smooth voice. Emaille's silvery laughter seemed to dash his confidence, and Puros turned to see the young night elf clapping her hands. The male allowed the cloak to settle back around him, glowering, and asked a sharp question. Emaille replied, voice still full of laughter, and a moment later the male shifted back into a crow in a swirl of feathers and flapped its way back up to its branch. It fixed its beady eyes on them and gave a raucous _caw_.

Puros glanced down at his charge, whose face was still pink with mirth. "What was that about?"

Emaille looked away in embarrassment, lowering thick lashes over her deep blue eyes. "We made a pact with the Green Dragon Aspect, Ysera the Dreamwalker, ten thousand years ago. It was part of our care of the World Tree, and our immortality, that the druids, the males of our race, pledged to spend that time in hibernation with their spirits guarding the Emerald Dream. They rarely came out of that sleep, and for them the periods awake were always, ahem, full of purpose. Apparently Yolaros Greenwalker is awake and on the prowl, though he should be standing sentry."

"I see," Puros said, amused. "Anything useful to our current task?"

"The camp we seek is just a short distance ahead. There has been no sign of my sisters, but I am sure they will meet with us before we reach it."

"All right," Puros said, giving the druid up above a polite nod. He got the group mounted and his charge situated in the saddle in front of him, and they set off.

True to Emaille's prediction within a few minutes of riding Fienna Shadowseve appeared as if from nowhere, striding along beside Puros's horse, bow slung across her back. She gave her sister a warm greeting, and Emaille returned the greeting with a few words and some light laughter. Fienna, apparently not amused, shot Puros a frosty glare and extended her arms. Puros handed Emaille down to her, and the slender night elf carried her sister with little apparent effort.

Within a few more minutes Mistress Fadingstar had joined them, one moment nowhere to be seen and the next walking beside Fienna. Almost immediately afterwards he heard a low whistle from the trees, and saw Lisune Shadowseve walking lightly along a branch above them, bow out with arrow nocked and looking every direction at once it seemed. The three night elves beside him began a whispered conversation in their own language, none of them looking pleased.

"What is it?" Puros asked.

"Is nothing," Fienna said curtly. "Our business."

Puros disagreed: as long as he and his men were in the company of the night elves their business was his business as well. But he made no protest for the moment.

They walked for a few more minutes, the woods perfectly serene around them, including the noises of woodland insects and creatures. A short way ahead a squirrel chattered angrily, and somewhere in the distance he heard a large animal crashing through the underbrush, fleeing their presence. Puros had a hard time believing anyone was camped within miles of this area, but soon enough Emaille called for him to halt. The night elves exchanged a few murmured words, and then Emaille turned to him. "I require another ride on your horse," she said stiffly. "My sister needs her arms free."

Puros helped the young night elf back up in front of him. As soon as she was secure she called softly to her sisters, and they unlimbered their bows from their backs and held them easily in one hand, marching forward resolutely. Puros motioned his men to have their weapons close to hand and nudged his horse forward behind them.

They came into a surprisingly well-hidden clearing, where five Sentinels stood outside their tents warily, as if they'd been awakened from sleep. Near the edge of the clearing a female night elf was bound to a tree and gagged. Unlike the others she was wearing finely cut breeches and shirt rather than leather and mail armor. A few yards away, stacked haphazardly on the ground, was a daunting pile of heavy armor and some wicked looking weapons. The prisoner's, he assumed.

Mistress Fadingstar ignored the five Sentinels, as well as the others that darted from the trees, bows in hand, and strode straight towards the bound night elf, flanked by her two companions. From the largest tent a druid with strange, ursine features emerged, saw what was happening, and called a challenge to Fadingstar. When Fadingstar ignored him he roared an order at the Sentinels gathered around the clearing, now a dozen strong with the ones who'd come from the trees and from within the tents. The Sentinels raised their bows hesitantly, arrows nocked but not drawn. A few carried odd throwing glaives at their side, and these shifted their stance subtly in preparation for throwing.

Fadingstar finally halted, still flanked by the two Shadowseves, but didn't draw an arrow from the quiver at her back. Fienna and Lisune, obviously not so confident, had arrows nocked to bowstrings and looked ready to draw and fire. The druid called out an angry question, which Fadingstar answered calmly. Whatever that answer had been, it obviously didn't please the bear-featured male. He barked another order, more sharply this time, and the Sentinels reluctantly drew their bows until the fletchings tickled their long ears, aiming for their sisters.

Fadingstar turned away from the druid to one of the archers, her musical voice harsher now. The Sentinal called back a response, and Puros heard the kaldoreen words for "Shan'do" and "Betrayer". He'd heard the night elves speak enough to recognize them, the first being an honorable title for the Archdruid Malfurion Stormrage. The second, of course, referring to Illidan.

Still completely calm Fadingstar motioned towards Puros and his paladins. The apparent leader of the Sentinels barked out an order, and eight of those bows turned to train on them. Puros stiffened. "Paladins, prepare to charge!" he called, even as he let go of the reins and reached over his shoulder to pull his shield from its place on his back. Since taking the poleaxe, which was now strapped to the harness beside his right leg, as a weapon he hadn't used the shield much, but now he called to the Light to bless it as he moved it protectively in front of Emaille. If it came to blows he would do what he could to protect her.

Obeying his orders, his paladins moved into a line in front of him, shields and weapons ready, guiding their mounts with their legs. Against most archers a charge of mounted warriors in heavy plate would be devastating, causing them to quickly break and scatter for cover. Puros wasn't so confident in the outcome when the enemy was bowwomen of the Sentinels, renowned even in the Eastern Kingdoms as some of the best archers on Azeroth. Particularly with those massive longbows they bore, broadhead arrows nocked to the strings. Puros trusted his plate armor, and the barding his horse bore, but at the same time this could get messy.

"What's going on?" he hissed at Emaille as Fadingstar and the Sentinel continued their heated argument.

"Later," Emaille hissed right back. She squirmed in the saddle, trying to get into a position where she could slide off the horse. "If it comes to blows drop me to the ground and do what must be done."

A shout from the druid turned him back to the night elves. The Sentinels were still hesitating, obviously reluctant to loose arrows at their sisters. Fadingstar remained coldly unflinching, pointing and the bound prisoner and speaking a few words harshly. A moment later the druid roared and leaped forward onto all fours, springing into a lumbering run on his hands and feet. By the second bound his shaggy hair had grown even shaggier, and by the third he'd shapeshifted into a fearsome black bear. He gathered himself for a final bound and leapt at Fadingstar.

As soon as the druid was in midair and unable to dodge Fadingstar moved, bringing an arrow to her bow and loosing with such blinding speed that it seemed instant. The arrow burst into flames as it left the bow, hitting the bear in its right eye and sinking halfway to the feathers. The druid gave a agonized roar and convulsed, still flying through the air. Fadingstar rolled smoothly out of the way, the two Shadowseve archers leaping back, and the druid crashed headfirst into the ground where they'd been standing and flipped once, then was still.

Fadingstar screamed at the Sentinels still wavering, pointing at the druid and at the bound prisoner. Within her rant Puros heard the word "Betrayer" several times, and "Shan'do" and "Tyrande" more than once. Many of the Sentinels were pale, their arrows wavering on their targets in their shock. Puros could hear Emaille weeping softly into her cloak.

Then the Sentinels' leader barked an order, and the bows were lowered. A moment later the Sentinels fled into the woods, disappearing almost as soon as they were among the trees. The leader remained for a moment more, declaring something that sounded like a warning to Fadingstar, and then she too was gone.

Fadingstar let her bow drop to the ground and rushed to the bound prisoner, drawing a curved knife from within her cloak and using it to sever the cords and cut away the gag. The prisoner dropped to the ground lightly in spite of being bound and held motionless for a long while, and began massaging the deep purple welts the ropes had made along her wrists and ankles.

Puros ordered his men into defensive positions around the group, then caught at Emaille's chin and firmly turned her head until her eyes, luminous with tears, met his. "Now, night elf. What's going on?"

The young female blinked a few times, eyes sad but resigned. "The Shan'do ordered Lady Shadowsong imprisoned. Why is not important. What is important is that he's allowed the Betrayer to escape once more, and his bear druid was more willing to fight and die than to let my Lady go!"

Puros looked from the dead bear to where Fadingstar and Shadowsong were deep in animated conversation, a sick feeling rising in his gut. "And when she pointed at us, and the Sentinels took aim at my men?"

"A ruse. Mistress Fadingstar was desperate to free Lady Shadowsong, and suggested she would kill any who tried to prevent her, if necessary. It is doubtful even she could have managed such a thing, not even with Fienna and Lisune to aid her. So she made it seem as if you were under her command as well, and she would unleash you if they did not withdraw and leave the Warden with us." Emaille smiled tremulously. "We are not fools. We've fought knights and paladins before, and we have a healthy respect for heavily armored mounted men."

"I see," Puros said, not trying to hide his anger and dismay. "In other words your mistress just rebelled against the legitimate authority of the night elves, and drew me into her fight as well?"

"Yes."

"How dare she!" Puros snarled, hurling his shield aside angrily. "Me and my men are sworn paladins of the Order of Turalyon, serving under the legitimate authority of King Anduin Wrynn of Stormwind! We're not brigands and murderers, to wage war on the legitimate armies of allies or even former allies! Those Sentinels are going to return to their leaders and tell them that a band of humans helped a bunch of traitors release a prisoner Malfurion Stormrage himself saw fit to order held captive! What do you think that's going to do for lasting peace between night elves and humans?"

Emaille's large eyes darkened with indignation, and her fine features hardened. "We're not traitors!" she said angrily. "And what am I to do about any of this? You don't have to shout at me!"

"Jarvak!" Puros called, reining his horse up beside the other paladin's. As Jarvak turned to him Puros gently lifted Emaille and shoved her into his arms. "Protect her," he ordered. Then he smoothly dismounted and strode over to where the other night elves were gathered. The freed Warden, features taut with purpose, was riffling through the pile of weapons and armor that had been stripped from her. When she saw Puros approaching she picked up an odd weapon like a circle of razored steel with sharp jags protruding every so often, with a rawhide grip along a short stretch of it allowing her to hold the weapon with one hand or two. He'd never seen anything like it, but the ease with which she held it made him certain she would wield it to deadly effect.

He ignored the weapon and its wielder and faced Fadingstar directly. "How dare you bring me into this insurrection?" he demanded.

Fadingstar watched him impassively. A moment later razored steel pressed against his shoulder, spinning him to face Shadowsong with surprising ease. The Warden was even taller than him, broad and well-muscled past the point of femininity. Her eyes were brilliant green, and her face was oddly comely atop that masculine body. When she spoke her voice was rough and bitter, with few of the musical tones of her sisters. "It doesn't matter, human," she said. "All that is past, and now we must worry about the future."

Puros didn't flinch. "I worry about a future where Malfurion decides the humans must be his enemies, after they aided rebels in freeing one of his prisoners."

She shrugged, her expression showing a complete lack of sympathy. "The Archdruid would not and could not have held me for long. I have only done what is just, while _he_ and the High Priestess betrayed our people by letting the criminal Illidan Stormrage escape. _That_ is what I care about, and _that_ is what you should care about as well. Telra Fadingstar has informed me that you hunt a servant of the Betrayer, one who could possibly put Illidan in our hands."

For a moment he ground his teeth in frustration. But it was obvious pressing the point would serve no purpose. And as little as he liked it, he needed the help of these night elves. "I do. I had him captured for a time, but when I would have executed him your servants intervened. They thought him more valuable as a lure to draw Illidan in, only he escaped."

The Warden's lips tightened into a thin line. "And you put that on my head as well, human?"

"I put that on no one's head. I simply want him back, and I want him dead. I have no argument with seeing him used to capture Illidan and bring him to justice, but _I want Nex dead_. I've suffered too many losses to pursue and defeat him alone, which is why I've come to you. Nex possesses far more power than we had supposed, and is very dangerous."

"You and I share a common purpose then, paladin. What you desire for this human Nex is no more than what I desire for the Betrayer. What say we join forces?"

Puros nodded, feeling relieved. "That is why I am here. I will join your hunt, but only if you promise that after Illidan is captured you will aid me in slaying the criminal Nex-thanarak."

"Done," Shadowsong said, letting her weapon fall to her side and proffering her hand. It was surprisingly mannish, and when Puros clasped it to seal their bargain her grip was crushing. "After I have what I desire, you shall have what you desire as well."


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

The Scarlet Crusade

Nex stood atop a hill, looking around. For once he had no idea what to do.

Not with the task itself, of course. Whatever this Hearthglen was, and however well the Argent Crusade defended it, it couldn't be any more difficult than Stormwind to get into and out of. He had a name and knew what item he was trying to retrieve, and that had been good enough before.

The problem this time, unfortunately, was that he had no idea where Hearthglen was. Somewhere to the northeast of the ruins of Lordaeron city was all well and good, but the nation of Lordaeron had been _huge_, and Nex had never traveled within its borders when the nation still existed. For that matter he'd only been in the Plaguelands themselves once, and he'd never been in this area. His hunt for Rachondimus had taken him much farther east and a bit more north, closer to Stratholme.

Oh, he knew about Hearthglen, of course. Lynda the Demonologist had followed the spread of the plague and the beginnings of the Scourge with equal parts excitement and envy, using her remaining connections with Azeroth's nobility to get information. He knew all about Arthas's abortive campaign, and the fact that the paladin prince had been trapped Hearthglen when half its citizens had consumed plagued grain and become undead, and all around other villages had already fallen and the newly formed Scourge army besieged him for days until Uther the Lightbringer could come with reinforcements. But knowing _about_ a place didn't bring him any closer to knowing how to get there.

"Felshit." Of course he couldn't just contact Stormrage and ask for directions. His erstwhile master put up with him for the sole reason that he was useful. The moment he stopped being that Stormrage would become far less tolerant.

He swore again. His best bet was to keep going north and east, following the mountain range to his left. Eventually he'd either find something or go too far and know he had to go back. Or with any luck he'd encounter a Scarlet Crusade patrol and could shadow them back to their town. With a sigh he leapt down the slope ahead and began climbing the cliffs to the even higher slope in front of him.

Atop that, at least, he saw _something_.

It was the ruins of a once-prosperous farm. The extensive fields the farmers had cultivated were diseased devastation now, and must of that was thanks to the plagued cauldron at their center, guarded by a strong contingent of Scourge undead.

Nex dropped to one knee, looking closer with his second sight. Well, _that_ was interesting. A Scourge emplacement out in the middle of nowhere, with only random sightings of unorganized undead before this. If this was anywhere near Hearthglen there was no way the Crusade wouldn't be watching it. For that matter it might be a Scourge outpost set to watch the human remnants.

"Halt, interloper, in the name of the Light!"

Nex turned slowly, facing down the slope to where a dozen men and women in red were easing from the trees. Most had bows trained on him, or spells prepared, and he had a cliff at his back. Come to think of it, this hill provided a prime spot to watch the undead emplacement below.

"Well damn," he said. At least he'd found some Scarlet Crusaders.

. . . . .

The humans in red started forward in a cautious, disciplined line. At their head strode a man in full red-laquered plate who bore a strong aura of holy energy. Nex bit back the urge to groan. False gods of Azeroth, _another_ paladin?

"It's a living creature," one of the men near the back of the group said with surprise. He was wearing ornate vestments sewn with holy symbols; some sort of priest or holy man.

The leader grunted with surprise. "Well, that's not something you see every day. Looks as if he hasn't had a good meal in weeks. Not wearing the cultist robes of an Acolyte of the Damned, but that would be my best guess."

"You'd be guessing wrong," Nex said, somewhat irked that they were talking to each other when he was right there. "My name is Nex."

"And my name is Hardin, Commander of this patrol group," the crimson-armored paladin said. "As for my guesses, I'll decide whether they're right or wrong. What is your interest in this area?"

"I have no interest in you," Nex said calmly. "Unless your name is Olivia, Cleric of the Order of Illumination."

A low murmur swept through the men, and Hardin narrowed his eyes. "What do you want with Lady Olivia?"

"I bear a message on behalf of my master. You probably will not know him, but if you consider yourselves enemies of the Scourge you would do well to let me deliver it."

"We don't need the help of a scrawny little whelp to defeat the Scourge!" a young man surrounded by ragged dogs called out. His beasts snarled as if in agreement. Nex ignored the fool, keeping his eyes on Hardin.

"Peace, Lonan," the Scarlet Commander barked. "If you're so keen to talk yap at your dogs, and leave the interrogation of prisoners to me."

"Yes, Commander Hardin," Lonan said with a sharp salute and only a trace of sullenness.

"Prisoner?" Nex said coolly. "I've identified myself as a peaceful messenger bearing an important missive, and you intend to take me captive and delay my mission?"

The line of crusaders chuckled, none too kindly. Hardin strode forward arrogantly and actually went so far as to prod Nex in the chest with a gauntleted finger. "We'll take you captive, aye, and likely execute you as well, because the only people we let wander within our territory or pass our blockade have a flame on their chest." He punctuated this statement by slapping the stylized flames on his own clean white tabard.

_Flame on their chest, eh? _Nex twisted his lip in contempt. "Scarlet Crusade, you call yourselves," he said. "Barely surviving against an enemy that threatens your entire race, and you still manage to pick fights with everyone you run into. Tell me, what is it about this vaunted Light of yours that seems to turn everyone it touches into fools or madmen or both?"

The man paused in the act of dropping his hand to his side, and almost looked as if he'd turn the gesture into a backhand. "Fools?" he demanded incredulously. "A dozen men with bows and spells at the ready surround you, and you seem determined to make us want to kill you. So who is the fool?"

"You. You've already told me you mean to kill me, so why shouldn't I say what I like? Yes, definitely you."

Hardin scowled. "Fools who've kept the Scourge at bay for nearly three years! Hordes of undead monstrosities, slaying my brothers and raising them up again. But we have not given an inch of ground to the Blight. We've held the line!"

"You've held the line," Nex agreed. "And against a mindless enemy who does not tire, does not flinch, does not break, holding the line is the only way to contain them. You're fools because while you were holding the line you selectively went around to every single other race and faction within a week's travel of the Plagued Border and found the perfect way to make them your enemy. It's hard to hold the line when the line bends back around on itself and becomes a circle with you on the inside and the rest of the world against you."

A snap and a shrill whine were followed immediately by an arrow that Nex narrowly dodged. "Hold for now!" Hardin roared. "Didn't I just get finished saying we're taking him prisoner?" Hardin turned back to Nex with an amused quirk to his lips. "Of course it is up to you, pitiful wretch. Do you want to die?"

"More than you can imagine, at times." Nex dropped his hands down to his waist and rest his hands on two of his double-pointed throwing daggers. "I've told you my purpose, you've told me yours. Perhaps it's time to stop talking."

"Right." Hardin turned away with studied contempt. "Karil, Elya, bind this wretch and bring him along."

Nex drew his daggers and flipped them at the man turned away from him, one to the back of each knee. The man fell with a cry. _Teach you to turn your back on an enemy_. Then he drew two of his heavy-bladed daggers and began gathering his energy. More _twangs_ sounded as several arrows were loosed, and the air was filled with their whine. Nex blocked one with a knife, dodged two more, and batted another out of the air with his forearm. The others all sailed away, missing by a wide margin.

Close on the tail of these arrows spells assaulted him with heat and cold and waves of shadow energy. Nex shrugged aside the attacks and dropped his gathered power at his feet. "Feel the fury of the shadows," he whispered. For an eternal instant his spell drifted lazily towards the ground. Then it struck, and all hell broke loose.

Dark energy exploded outward in every direction, rapidly expanding into a ring-like wave that swept over the crusaders. But even though it seemed to pass through them harmlessly, when it faded away everyone around him crumpled to the ground, momentarily stunned. Nex shifted his grip on the knives and darted forward, ducking and opening the fool Lonan's throat as he passed. He stomped on one of the dog's legs and heard a satisfying _snap_. As he rushed to his next victim he lifted a hand and sent out a blast of shadow energy that struck one of the enemies on the other side of the line, farthest away from his position. The crusaders wouldn't stay stunned for long, and the more he could kill before they came to, the less chance any would escape to send a warning to Hearthglen.

It was a grisly few moments, and by the time they were done with he'd slain five more of the crusaders. Which left six more to contend with. Fortunately it seemed his fear that they'd flee was unfounded; all six attacked him at once.

One tripped over Commander Hardin, who struggled to rise, and a moment later began screaming horribly as Nex's thrown dagger found his throat. Two of the others were casters, a mage and a priest, and rather than charging forward they stayed back and sent glittering shards of ice and wave after wave of shadow energy, respectively. The other two were heavily armored and armed with sword and shield. They were wary but confident as they approached, thinking his wielding only daggers put him at a disadvantage.

Nex drew another dagger as he gathered up a concentrated coil of dark energy and sent it at one of the swordsmen, and the man fled screaming in pain. The other, smaller and obviously a woman, charged at him and slashed viciously with her short sword. Nex turned it aside with his lefthand dagger, obviously surprising her with his strength, and ducked within the range of her sword. She tried to slam him in the face with her shield, but he caught the blow on his right forearm and heaved back, sending her sprawling. Her sword flew out of her hand.

Before he could finish her off his feet became trapped in ice that sprang up from the ground, and he looked over to the casters to see that one of them had summoned a lesser water elemental. Now caster and pet were sending bolts of ice and water at him. He lifted one arm against the stinging spray and gritted his teeth in annoyance. The priest caster was kneeling over Hardin, struggling to cast healing spells, while Hardin tried to get his feet under him in spite of severed knee tendons. Nex hurled a bolt of shadowy energy at the priest, only to have it wash uselessly over a pliant shield of holy energy that bent and flexed but refused to break.

This was proving to be tougher than he'd expected. These crusaders were hardened veterans of countless battles with the Scourge, and they were not only stronger than most of the enemies he'd faced recently, but obviously used to fighting in concert. He might could kill them still, but it was going to become harder once Hardin got his feet under him. And the fleeing swordsman had turned and was running for him again.

"Damnit," he muttered. He didn't really need to fight them anyway, since his goal was to get inside Hearthglen and retrieve the scroll. And as for getting into Hearthglen...

He looked at Hardin's armor. _Flame on their chest, eh_? Throwing a shadowy shield around himself he leapt forward, making for the most ideal spot, close enough to all of his enemies but the mage. Once there he unleashed a wave of psychic energy that would fill their minds with unreasoning fear. All but the priest fled. In the narrow opening he'd made for himself he charged forward, kicked through the priest's greatly weakened shield, and knocked him sprawling. Then he knelt by Hardin, who was snarling in fear but unable to run, barely managing to crawl as he tried to flee. Nex slammed the pommel of his heavy-bladed dagger into the back of the man's head, knocking him out cold, then pulled him over both his shoulders.

With a strangled grunt he pushed to his feet, lugging almost three hundred pounds of crusader, and sprinted for the cliff behind him. It was far more difficult to levitate with so much weight, but he managed it and drifted into the trees below. From there he ran north and east, around the Blighted farm and towards a gap in the hills ahead.

He hadn't gone more than a mile or so before he was awarded with the sight of encampments in the distance, manned by living men and women wearing the red of the Scarlet Crusade.

"About time," he muttered, dropping Hardin to the ground. He moved around the perimeter of the place he'd stopped at, searching for patrols, and then returned to where Hardin sprawled and began loosening the ties of his armor with nimble fingers.

It was a fairly lengthy task, and long before he'd removed even half the armor Hardin began to stir. "Ah, Hardin, awake at last?" he asked politely. "Sorry to have to drag you away from your duties, but I had a pressing question I had to ask you." Hardin stared at him blankly, obviously struggling to form a coherent though, and Nex laughed. "I'm just wondering if your precious Light is a whore, giving out its power out to anyone willing to worship it, or just completely lacks judgment."

The Scarlet Commander blinked slowly. "Wha?"

Nex began working on removing the man's plated boots. "You see, you all claim that the Light is the source of everything good, and those who wield it are incapable of evil. But at the same time I know for a fact that your kind has battled paladins from other factions before. I'm just wondering if, in those battles, the Light supports both combatants or picks a side. If it was truly holy it would only support the just cause, while if it was mercenary, open to anyone who asked for it, then it would give freely to both sides, and the ones most capable of wielding it would prevail."

Hardin blinked slowly, eyes glazed. "Th'...I don'..." He suddenly seemed to realize Nex was removing his armor. "Wha'r you doi'?"

Nex smiled mirthlessly. "Robbing you, can't you tell?" He finished removing the armor, none too gently, and started on the big human's clothes. Hardin said nothing, seeming to swoon, as Nex finished removing all but his underclothes. He began putting on the crusader's gear. But the commander stirred again as Nex finished putting on the armor, tightening it as much as possible to fit him, and then eased the tabard over his head, letting the red stylized flame settle on his breast.

"M' tabard!" Hardin said thickly.

"That's right. You did say the only people who could get through your blockade had the flame on their chest."

The man began struggling, trying to get to his feet. "I'll die 'fore I let you take the flame off me."

Nex made a final adjustment to the tabard and turned to the commander. "I'm Nothing if not a fair man. If you want the flame burning at your breast you have but to ask." He lunged forward, quick as a cat, and slammed his palm into Hardin's sternum, pushing the man back down to the ground, keeping his palm pressed tight to Hardin's skin the whole time. For a moment they were both still, and then the scarlet commander began screaming and thrashing as wisps of smoke rose between Nex's fingers. A moment later black char began spreading from where his palm was pressed to the man's chest.

Then, all at once with a soft but solid _whumph_, Hardin burst into intense flame. Within seconds even his bones were ash, which settled to the ground in a downy drift.

Nex knelt there for a moment more, letting the flames bathe him. Then he stood and spat into the ashes. "It'd have to be some kind of insane world where I'd actually want to be one of you." As he said it he wasn't sure if he meant a human or a Scarlet Crusader.

Either worked, he supposed.

Without looking back he turned and trotted towards the terraced hills with their gauntlet of blockades and watchtowers, Hearthglen rising red and white at the top.

. . . . .

High Commander Galvar Pureblood rose stiffly from his desk, groaning as his old leg injury twinged. By the Light he was tired, and no amount of rest could serve to dull the despair that had settled into his very bones.

But despair or no, today he must be strong for his people. They didn't know it, but it was a day worthy of note.

Leaving his desk behind he strode past his bed, ignoring its enticements, and went to the dresser where a bowl for washing and a pitcher of tepid water stood. He splashed some water on his face, the sting easing some of his weariness, and then he got his small scissors and began carefully trimming his beard in front of the small mirror on its stand.

Before he'd half finished a polite knock on the door was followed immediately by a young man dressed in fine white and scarlet silk clothes, the scarlet flame embroidered large on his chest and on one shoulder of his cloak. "My Lord," the youth said, stepping further into the room, "the men are assembled for morning prayers, and await word from you."

Galvar nodded curtly. The boy hadn't bowed, but then they were technically equals. Highlord Taelan Fordring led Hearthglen and the surrounding lands still held by human hands in a more civilian manner, while Galvar nominally held command of the military under him. Of course, the civilian aspects of Hearthglen were just about nonexistent now, and even those that remained civilian, such as the smithies, stables, clothiers, and farms, wholly served the military. Faced by oblivion every day there wasn't much room for dancing around Maypoles.

Still, Taelan had endured his loss of power gracefully, and now served as a sort of glorified quartermaster for a long while. He was edging in on the position of Galvar's second in command, rising through the ranks of other officers not by dint of seniority but by sheer loyalty and valor. He was a fine lad, young to be such a grim fighter, but he'd inherited his Lord father's abilities there. Thankfully that was all he had inherited from the traitor.

"Very good, lad. I'll be out soon."

"Aye, my Lord." Taelan hesitated. "The men are looking forward to your speech, sir. Rumors are going around that today is an eventful day, and they're expecting something more than the usual."

"Not to worry, lad. You can go."

Fordring saluted and left quickly, face set stoically at the curt dismissal. Of course Galvar had spent the night writing this speech for just that reason. And where did the lad think the rumors had begun, anyway? With a sigh he finished shaving and began dressing in his white and gold armor, calling for his page to aid him. Fifteen minutes later he stood once more before the tiny mirror, resplendent in white and gold with the tabard of the Crusade and the stylized flame upon its snowy field the only bit of red on him. That only served to make it the more noticeable.

He settled his greatcloak of white broadcloth across his shoulders, fastening it with golden pins, and then he turned and swept from the room, through the fortress and down to the parade grounds below, where his people waited.

It was a gratifying thing to burst through the Scarlet Keep's front doors and hear the roar of his men. They spread across the parade grounds in a red and white field, hundreds in all. Soldiers, farmers, smiths and lumberjacks. Women as brave and valorous as the men, and as willing to bear arms in defense of their beloved town. For a moment he was overcome by emotion, and he had to stop and compose himself as he looked out at their shining faces, proud of what they had accomplished here.

When Arthas, Uther, and their forces had abandoned Hearthglen it had been little more than a ruin filled with starving, desperate peasants. Any with the means or the courage had fled, and those that remained were too terrified to eat for fear of the plagued grain, too terrified to try to flee through the undead that roamed the lands outside their walls. The only advantage they'd had was the meager fortifications Arthas had prepared when the undead had besieged them.

But Galvar hadn't left with Uther even when ordered to do so, and with him had remained a few truly generous souls who couldn't stand to see these people left to their fate. By dint of sheer determination they had clawed their way out of starvation and poverty, fending off the undead as they struggled to rebuild their town.

And they had.

Chest swelling with pride he strode to stand at the top of the stairs, raising his hands in acknowledgment of the cheers. He let them continue for a time, and then he raised one fist in a curt gesture to silence it. "Brothers, the Light is with us," he said. The men responded with a roar of approval. "We've lived in the shadow of death for so long, surviving day by day, that many might come to think that it's been an eternity. It might surprise some of you, as it surprised me to learn it, that we've survived two years to the day against the horrific undead since Uther and his paladins abandoned us to our fates." Another cheer, louder this time.

Galvar looked around with a weary smile. "Not only survived, my brothers, but rebuilt. Look around you, and try to see yourselves as I see you. You stand in disciplined ranks, well trained and veterans of dozens of battles. Your armor gleams, undented and burnished until it shines like fresh blood. Your weapons are sharp, and you hold them well. Though hard times have not left us I see you are all well fed and healthy. And what is more, the Light gives all of us the strength to not merely fight on, but to press forward!

"And brothers, the Light is the only strength we need. Let the Alliance traitors who abandoned us nibble at the flanks of the Scourge and tickle the traitor Arthas where he's weakest. Let the demi-humans who have no stake in this peril to humanity look on while we bleed for them. They are timid and they are weak, but _we stand at the very heart of the Scourge_! The undead press us like an avalanche, but we weather them day by day. And we shall not falter!"

Another cheer, longer this time. Galvar let it wash over him for several minutes as his people, pristine with the flame of righteousness on their breasts, roared their defiance to the world. For it was the world they fought against, all the world against them. "Let any who cross our borders, whether they breathe or are the dead animate, feel the wrath of the Light! Those who do not stand with us stand against us. And brothers, today we stand alone! _And we shall not falter_!"

Again he had to wait for the cheers to die down. He smiled through it all, content to wait as long as necessary. "I am proud to stand at your head, brothers. I am humbled by the courage and determination you show every day. Through tireless effort and unflagging determination we've carved a beautiful home in the midst of death and blight, and day by day we hold it back. AND..."

He raised his arms, gesturing to his people, and they roared back to him. "We shall not falter!"

Galvar smiled. "I proclaim this day the day we celebrate the Triumph of Hearthglen! Let us every year rest from our labors and celebrate the miraculous feat we've accomplished and continue to accomplish. The sentries will run half shifts so they, too, can celebrate, and tonight let as raise a flame such as these desolate lands have rarely seen, the flame of our passion incarnate. For the first time in two years, let Hearthglen ring to the noise of singing and dancing! For Hearthglen!"

"For Hearthglen!" his people cheered back at him. And this time the crowd's roar didn't end.

With a last weary smile Galvar motioned for them to disperse and strode down the stairs to where the most influential people of the town awaited him.

As the assembled soldiers dispersed Galvar caught a glimpse of one, a commander, whose armor fit so terribly it was painfully obvious. He frowned in displeasure. There was no call for such slovenly appearance, and least of all in an officer. He was about to give orders that the man be sent to Foreman Jerris to have his armor refitted when two of the gate sentries and an invoker burst onto the parade grounds from the south, in the direction of the gauntlet.

"See what that's about," he ordered Fordring, who saluted and immediately began pushing through the crowd of well-wishers to intercept the trio. Galvar kept an eye on them as he shook the hands of various officers and dignitaries of the Church and village, and politely broke away when he saw Fordring pushing through the group towards him with the invoker in tow.

"What is it?" he demanded. His alarm grew when he saw that the invoker was wounded and his normally fine red-and-black robes were torn and rumpled. "What is this? What's happened?"

The invoker saluted. "Polarn at your service, High Commander," he panted. "I served in the patrol group under Commander Hardin. Far patrol, scouting near Dalson's Tears. We encountered a living human, an emaciated creature we thought was a Scourge Acolyte, and prepared to take it captive. The creature proved to wield devastating shadow magics, and slew all in our party save I, one of our swordsmen, and our Priest, Daran, both of whom are at the gates seeing to their wounds."

"All?" Galvar demanded. "How large was your patrol?"

"Full contingent, sir. A dozen in all, excluding the Commander." Polarn hesitated. "It's perhaps inaccurate to say he slew us all. Commander Hardin he took with him."

"Took with him?" Galvar realized belatedly that repeating everything the man was saying wasn't doing much for his image as a leader. He just wished this disaster could have picked another day to happen. "Commander Hardin was a large man, and should have been in full armor. I'm trying to construct a scenario where one man could slay nine of you, kidnap your commander, and escape. Did you flee?"

The invoker paled. "No, High Commander! I swear it was the enemy who fled, carrying Hardin."

"You say this creature was emaciated, yet he fled carrying a heavy man in full armor and managed to escape. Did you not pursue?"

Polarn hesitated. "It, ah, would be a lie to say we pursued eagerly, as he leapt off a cliff. But we did follow him to the edge, and saw that he was levitating down to the ground below. When he reached it he fled, moving far too quickly for us to catch him." The man shifted nervously. "And, sir, he was fleeing north, towards Hearthglen."

Galvar glanced at the two sentries who'd escorted the invoker. One of them shook his head. "No sightings of this enemy, sir. And none of our other positions or scouts have come under attack."

"He, ah, mentioned at the beginning that he was looking for Lady Olivia of the Order of Illumination."

Galvar's head snapped back to the invoker. "And you decided to wait until the end of your report to tell me that?" He caught Fordring's shoulder. "Take a dozen men and secure the Order of Illumination's rooms. See to it that Olivia is protected especially."

"Sir!" the lad snapped, saluting sharply. He began barking orders, already running across the parade grounds, and a handful of the milling soldiers fell into line behind him.

Galvar searched through the crowd until he found High Protector Lorik, who had charge of the day to day management of their forces. "Tell me, High Protector. Are any of our officers so slovenly as to wear ill-fitting armor?"

The man scowled in affront: the fool was actually unable to connect the kidnapping of one of their officers with the possibility of infiltration. "Not one of them, High Commander. We outfit our men with custom-made plate, and refit them monthly."

"Then sound the alarm," Galvar said grimly. "Because I fear this enemy is already within Hearthglen."

. . . . .

Nex sidled into a large room on the top floor of the building he'd been directed to by one of the scarlet soldiers listening to their Commander's speech. In it four beds occupied the four corners, with chests at the foot of each for personal belongings. Aside from those there was little in the way of furniture or ornamentation, save a rack of scrolls and books along one wall.

Kneeling beside one of the beds, head bowed in fervent prayer, was a slender woman with graying hair in a coarse robe of brown roughspun. She ignored him as he started towards her. Nex cleared his throat sharply. "Olivia, of the Order of Illumination?"

The woman turned towards him after a moment or so. "Yes?" she asked gently. As she finished speaking bells began ringing outside, easily a dozen of them in a rolling clangor. Alerted by them, perhaps, she looked more closely at him and then edged back, face pale. "What evil is within you?" she breathed.

Nex bit back a curse. He'd hoped for longer before the alarm was raised. The remainder of Hardin's patrol must have run straight back here and, miraculously for any large military, managed to swiftly raise the alarm. "An evil that's far more interested in slaying Scourge than Scarlet Crusade," he said, reaching for one of the heavy-bladed daggers at his belt. "But one which will do what is necessary, and one which doesn't have much time."

Though her face remained pale, it became surprisingly calm and composed at his words. Nex couldn't see any fear in her features. "Whom have I angered that you would come for me and call me by name? What have I done that you would risk entering this fortress of the Light to claim my life?"

"I don't give a rat's damn about your life, woman," Nex snarled, taking another step closer. She was powerful, he could feel, a solid conduit to the hated Light. But her defenses didn't match that power: she was no fighter. "My master's allies are fighting the Scourge, and I've been sent because you possess a specialized enchantment for weapons that will make them more devastating against our mutual enemies."

To his surprise her suspicion faded, replaced by...something else. "Who are your master's allies?" she asked intently.

"I don't know!" He could hear crashing noises from below, and curses. He didn't have time for this. "The high elf remnants, perhaps, or some faction of humans that have survived in the area. The important thing is they're about to engage the Scourge and they need that weapon enchant. And it _is_ rather pressing, since I've apparently been discovered and your friends are closing in on us. I'd like to simply take the scroll and leave, but if I have to kill you I will."

"I don't doubt that." She was still staring at him with that curiously intent expression. Then she moved to the rack of scrolls and drew one from it. "When I created this enchant I'd always intended for it to go to any who fight the Scourge. But the nature of Hearthglen's leaders prevents such a thing. Take it, creature of darkness, and use it to wound the Scourge."

Nex took the scroll slowly, unable to believe after all this effort that she was simply giving it to him. "Why?"

That question could have applied to just about anything, but she understood it easily enough. "Even if your heart is as black as your aura, child, some weapons are so holy that they can only be used for good. You may take this enchantment for whatever nefarious reason, but the fact remains that its only true use is destroying undead. And any use you put it to can only aid the cause of humanity."

"I'd love to prove you wrong on that, woman, but I'm afraid you're probably right." Nex tucked the scroll into his pack, left the room, and sprinted down the hallway towards a small stained-glass window at the end. The image it depicted was some smug noble-faced bastard being graced with the Light, which only made him feel better about smashing through it to Levitate the four storeys down to the ground. He could hear shouts behind him, indicating he'd once again fled none too soon.

Unfortunately he could also hear shouts below him on every side.

. . . . .

High Commander Galvar skidded to a halt, the dozen men at his back stopping as well with some oaths, as they saw a figure break through a window on the fourth floor. The figure began to drop, then his fall slowed to a drift and he began floating swiftly towards the hills overlooking Hearthglen to the east.

Galvar pressed his lips together when he realized the window the intruder had destroyed was the stained glass image honoring the Rapture of Lord Perial. It had been a beautiful thing, one of the few remnants of the time before the plague and the coming of the Scourge.

He raised his hammer, pointing it at the drifting figure, and summoned the Light to reveal to the vile creature its every sin. "Know the evil within you, vandal!" he roared.

The figure stiffened slightly, and dipped in the air as his concentration on his spell lapsed, but then he continued drifting forward undeterred. He turned his head to glance back at Galvar. "I've spent a week enduring the torment of my sins!" he yelled with a vicious smile that revealed overlong canines. "They no longer hold any terror for me!"

Galvar stood in shock, staring at the intruder. Even the undead had no power to withstand the Light revealing their sins to them. He had incapacitated Scourge commanders with the Light. What manner of creature was this that he could just shrug it off so easily? He whirled to soldiers behind him. "Don't just stand there, idiots! After him, and bring him down if you can. Don't let him leave Hearthglen alive!"

Two of the men had longbows, and they immediately fitted arrows to the strings and loosed at the target. He was still less than twenty yards away and the shot was easy, but somehow he spun at just the right time to dodge both arrows, his levitation wobbling slightly. As the archers fitted arrows to strings again he heard a yell from behind him. "Clear the line, fools!"

Galvar whirled to see Siegemaster Carlon and a crew wheeling a ballista into place. "You're pulling back my archers to try hitting a small moving target with a damn _ballista_?" he demanded.

Carlon scowled right back. "They can shoot all they like, just not in my line of fire. And I'll hit it, never you worry. Clear the line!"

Grumbling, the archers moved to the side and continued loosing arrows, which struck harmlessly against a magical shield, barely causing the enemy's levitation to wobble. Carlton didn't even notice them complying with his orders, already shouting at his crew. "Three degrees up and a hair to the right. A bit more right. _Right_! Faster, Lightdamnit! Kiv hurry the hell up! If you take longer changing a trajectory than the moving target takes to get to it then you'll never LOOSE, LOOSE NOW!"

With a deep _thrum_ Galvar could feel in his teeth the ballista loosed, its bolt arcing towards the floating figure, bending pendulously from the force of the string. It connected solidly with the enemy and carried it along its trajectory, barely slowing from the collision.

"There, you see!" Carlton crowed. "I told you I'd hit it!"

Galvar watched, openmouthed, as the skewered enemy and ballista bolt reached the apex of their arc and started to drop. Damned if Carlton actually _had_ hit a small moving target with a damn _ballista_. That man was getting a promotion.

The bolt's trajectory took it within ten feet of an outcrop of rock some hundred yards outside the walls of Hearthglen, and the figure dropped off it. The massive projectile's speed had probably shaken the intruder loose. Galvar expected the corpse to drop bonelessly onto the outcrop and lie there, still, which it did after tumbling a few times from the speed of its forward momentum. "Men, go fetch me that corpse. I want to know-"

He cut off, cursing in disbelief, as the figure began moving, running, down the spine of the outcrop. It was headed south.

. . . . .

Nex gripped his cloak tightly with both hands to slow the bleeding. The ballista's shaft had torn his palms up good before he'd managed to get a firm grip on it, and he was fairly certain his left shoulder had been dislocated by the jarring impact of his speed matching up with the projectile's.

He didn't care. If lacerated hands, a few broken fingers, and a dislocated shoulder was all the injury he had to suffer for getting a free ride away from Hearthglen at an arrow's speed he was happy to suffer it.

Behind he could hear shouting, but he wasn't worried. He was a couple hundred yards and a ravine and several hillsides away from pursuit, and even on horseback they wouldn't catch him.

. . . . .

Olivia sat on the edge of her bed, hands folded demurely in her lap and eyes to the ground. She looked unharmed.

"Sir, I am pleased to report that Lady Olivia is safe!" Fordragon said, saluting.

"Yes, which is odd." Galvar moved to stand in front of the cleric, feet spread wide and hands clasped behind his back. He ignored the twinge of old wounds and weary muscles. "The enemy was powerful, resourceful, and clever. He destroyed a patrol group nearly to the man with relative ease. I have a hard time believing he would simply flee at the first sign of alarm, unless he'd gotten what he came for."

Taelan frowned. "But he came for Lady Olivia and she is unharmed. He surely couldn't have completed whatever objective he had, sir. Lady Olivia told me he was in her room for under a minute, and took nothing."

Galvar frowned at the woman suspiciously. She'd been a thorn in his side since the beginning, demanding leave to provide her services as a healer to prisoners, demanding they be allowed to lend aid to other humans in the area who hadn't yet come under the Scarlet Banner. But for all that she was one of their best healers, and by far their best enchanter. Thanks to her efforts with the Light his men wore armor endowed with strong protections, and swung weapons endowed with great effectiveness.

As if she sensed his doubts she spoke. "No, you and Highlord Fordring are both right, High Commander Pureblood," she said calmly, finally raising her eyes to meet his. "He was not here long, and he took nothing. He did, however, complete his objective."

"Oh?" Galvar said sharply. "And what objective would that be?"

"The undead slaying weapon enchant," Olivia said simply. "He came for it, and I gave it to him."

For a moment Galvar could hardly breathe, stunned by the brazen audacity of this woman, and horrified by the implications of what she'd done. "You gave our greatest weapon to our enemies?" he said quietly.

She shrugged. "It was worth the price of a parchment and a few minutes of scribing, as well as some minor enchantments on the scroll. It deprives the Crusade of nothing, while allowing others to more effectively fight our own enemies."

"Nothing? Nothing! You've given our enemies the means to destroy us!"

For the first time Olivia looked surprised. "In what way? The only use they could put the enchant to would be to fight the Scourge, and any weakening of those enemies can only benefit us."

Galvar caught her by the throat, pushing her down onto her bed and pressing his face close to hers. "You fool! Anything which makes our enemies stronger makes them more of a risk to us. That they are more effective against the undead may make them confident enough to turn their attention to us for a time. You think they're pleased we've been raiding their supply lines?"

Despite the vulnerable position the woman was in she showed no distress. "And why are you doing that? If our enemy is the Scourge why must we attack everyone? I created that enchant so that all of humanity could have a means by which to fight the undead, not so that a bunch of rabid xenophobes could wage war against the world!"

In an eyeblink Galvar's rage was replaced by icy calm. It was no good wasting such strength of emotion on a common traitor, and now that he knew her mind there was nothing more to say.

He released her and turned to Taelan, who was pale with shock. "The traitor Olivia is too useful to be executed for her crimes. See that she is watched at all times, and her movements restrained to where her services are necessary. As long as she is willing to continue aiding us as she has she will continue to live. If at any time she refuses to serve she is to be killed without hesitation."

"But my Lord, we-"

"I'll not waste a moment more on a traitor. See to it my orders are obeyed, and I don't want to hear another word about her unless it's to hear she's dead!" Galvar shot one last disgusted look at the cleric, then turned on his heel and strode away.

. . . . .

Nex was within sight of the northern shore of Lordamere Lake when, to his surprise, Stormrage tapped their link. A moment later the corrupted night elf's image appeared before him.

"I'm following your orders, as you commanded," Nex said. "I didn't expect contact from you until my current task was complete."

Stormrage's image wavered slightly, and his voice sounded somewhat distorted. "An opportunity has come up. I'd like you to take advantage of it for me."

Nex frowned at the image. There was something different about it. Very carefully he probed his link to his nominal master, and to his surprise realized it was very tenuous. The power flowed through it still, but not as much as it had. And there was a feeling of...delay, to drawing upon it. He would almost have attributed it to distance, but where on this world could distance make a difference to such a link?

Stormrage's voice interrupted him before he could consider the matter further. "Before you follow your orders and rendezvous with my minions on the eastern bank of Lordamere Lake, I have a task for you," Stormrage looked tellingly at the scarlet uniform and armor Nex still wore and smiled. "And you seem to be dressed for the task already."

Nex looked down at his makeshift disguise suspiciously. "What exactly is this task?"

"One that, once again, your race makes you the ideal candidate for."

"I see." Nex laughed. "So every time you need someone to fuck over some humans you come to me. I'm so glad every task you set for me involves betraying my own people."

It was Stormrage's turn to laugh. "Your own people?" he asked mockingly. "Do you really believe that?"

Nex said nothing. In truth, he was surprised he'd made any complaint at all. Humanity had shown him what he could expect from it, and he'd just as soon have as little to do with it as possible. Stormrage waited for a moment, but when no answer was forthcoming he shrugged. "No need to become indignant, in any case. This task will not be a detriment to your noble race. The people you're going to be "fucking over" are our prospective allies."

Nex blinked. "What?"

"The human general Garithos, commander of the tattered remnants of the Alliance army in this area, has already done a very good job of alienating the blood elves."

"The blood elves, eh?" Nex said. He's suspected those were Illidan's "new allies."

"Our new allies. I'm disappointed you had to be told." Stormrage shook his head. "In any case Garithos dislikes the blood elves, and the tasks he's been setting them to are becoming more and more difficult. Kael'thas was tasked with repairing an observatory on the island at the center of Lordamere Lake, but no shipyards remained and the Alliance couldn't be bothered with providing ships. He would have failed to carry out his orders had he not received aid from my minions in crossing the lake."

"Your minions?" Nex interrupted. "Do you plan to tell me their identities, or will they be a secret as well until I rendezvous with them?"

Stormrage shrugged. "They are the naga, a branch of the Highborne night elves that served most closely with Azhara, our ancient queen. Long ago when the Well of Eternity was destroyed and many of the night elves' greatest cities were sunk to the bottom of the sea, the naga sank with them. The survived below the tides, and are now ready to rise from the depths and aid me."

"I see." Nex had heard a little of the naga. They were very reclusive, but possessed powerful magics. They were known to many in the magical communities, and Lynda the Demonologist had spent quite a bit of time studying their connection with demons. It made sense that they were relatives of the elves, since all reports held that they spoke a bastardized language similar to both Thalassian and Kaldoreen.

"But naga should not concern you at this moment. Garithos has thus far contented himself with setting the blood elves to impossible tasks. However even his hatred is not vindictive enough to completely sever ties between the blood elves and the Alliance. Kael'thas is proud, and even worse than that honorable. As long as the Alliance offers him a chance to fight the Scourge, Arthas in particular, he will take it. We just have to show him that the only thing the Alliance offers is treachery, and his best hope for vengeance lies with us. That is where you come in."

"You want me to assassinate Garithos and make it look like the blood elves did it?"

Stormrage turned to face north. "Nothing so difficult as that. You need simply deliver a message to Garithos. Tell him that the blood elves are working with the naga and their loyalty is suspect, and any troops he keeps with them might be in imminent danger. News of that betrayal should, hopefully, push Garithos into taking an action extreme enough that even a man of Prince Kael'thas's honor will no longer be able to support the Alliance."

Before Nex could reply one way or another the image winked out. He sighed, looking east along the shore of the lake towards the completion of his task, indeterminably delayed now, then turning and staring in every direction. Wonderful. Another task set at a location he didn't know.

Oh well, at least the Alliance army would be easier to find than a hideout of religious zealots. His best bet was to find the largest group of Scourge in the area and see who opposed them.

. . . . .

It took him nearly two days, since he'd traveled farther south assuming the Alliance army would be doing badly against the undead. To his annoyance he'd found nothing but fortified rearguards and supply lines leading deeper into Scourge territory. Whoever this Garithos was, he was certainly taking the fight to Arthas.

But finally he found the main Alliance encampment. As opposed to most staging areas which were usually a bit removed from the front, Garithos's camp was directly on the front lines behind fortifications so heavy they might as well be called a fortress. They were walled and trenched with stone and timber to the north, east, and west, and to the south where reinforcements and resupply were thickest a massive set of movable barricades had been erected.

Nex spent a few hours circling the fort, looking for a good place to infiltrate. He even went into Scourge territory, braving the undead the blanketed the area. It was dark by the time he completed his inspection, but no matter where he searched he found no gaps in the Alliance's vigilance. Even the reinforcements coming in from the south were closely inspected as they entered the defenses. Papers and insignia were being checked on soldiers and even the civilians, and every single bag, box, and barrel was being opened and sorted through. There were even priests testing the food supplies for signs of the plague.

Nex swore, looking down at the Scarlet Crusade Commander's clothes and armor he still wore. He supposed he could find an Alliance soldier and steal their uniform and credentials, and just have to hope there weren't any passwords or secret verifications he hadn't noticed.

Or, on the other hand, he could pose as an emissary from the Scarlet Crusade. Stormrage had, after all, said he was dressed for this task. It might be safer to be allowed into Garithos's presence to deliver a message under intense scrutiny, as opposed to trying to impersonate a soldier and being caught as a spy. And on the plus side, he'd listened to enough of that High Commander's speech to know how a Scarlet Crusader would act.

That all depended, of course, on whether or not the Scarlet Crusade had pissed the Alliance off to the point where they would actually let him deliver a message instead of killing him outright.

Ten minutes later he openly approached the barricades to the southeast. "Halt!" a lieutenant behind the barricades shouted. Nex obediently halted, waving the white flag he'd made out of the back of his tabard. He hoped the idiots could see it in the dark.

Apparently they could, because a moment later the lieutenant came out from behind the barricade and strode forward, stopping two feet away from Nex in a gesture of extreme arrogance. There was an uncomfortable silence as the man inspected him point-blank, but finally he spoke. "You're one of the Scarlet Crusade," he said coldly. "One of those mongrels that raids our supply lines."

Nex had anticipated something of the sort. Raiding supply lines was exactly the sort of thing he'd expect from the Scarlet Crusade. He had a response that might work, but it depended heavily on Stormrage being right about the xenophobia of Garithos's army. "You mean the _dwarven_ wagons?" he said with a curl of his lip. "What do humans care what other humans do to dwarves?"

The lieutenant drew back his hand and hit Nex hard in the face with the back of a gauntleted fist. Nex ducked away from the blow just enough to keep it from doing any serious damage and sprawled to the ground. "Our main source of resupply is the dwarves at Aerie Peak," the man said coldly as Nex pushed back to his feet. "Every man here depends on the generosity of the dwarves for most of their food. Are your people really such fools that you think food carried by dwarves would only be eaten by dwarves?"

"It should be," Nex said, spitting off to the side in mock disgust. "The thought of grubbing a meal provided by their filthy hands sickens me. But in any case if you don't want us raiding your lines, perhaps you should have the food be carried by humans so we know it's going to deserving mouths."

From the barricade a rough dwarven voice cursed loudly. "Ye stand aside, Lieutenant, so I kin shoot this dog."

"Hold!" the lieutenant said sharply. "We're an army of honorable men, and this man has come to us under the flag of truce."

"You only wish your army had nothing but _men_ in it," Nex shot back.

The lieutenant turned back to Nex, scowling. "Although most people depending on the mercy of their enemies speak a bit more fairly to them."

"I didn't come to bandy words with the night sentries," Nex said. "The Crusade has information your Lord General Garithos will want to hear, and my superiors were kind enough to send me to ensure that he hears it."

"Then tell me the information, and I will judge if it is worthy of the attention of the man whose sole guidance holds back endless waves of ravening dead."

Nex raised his hands in mocking apology. "This misunderstanding is my fault, I'm sure. And I'm sorry for it. When I said I have information Garithos will want to hear, what I _meant_ to say is I have orders to give the general, personally, a message of great importance."

The lieutenant hesitated, then shook his head. "That's not good enough."

"It concerns possible treachery in your camp. I can trust it to no one but General Garithos. And if you're one of the traitors then I've already said too much."

The man scowled, but finally stepped back and motioned curtly. "Move then, red dog. And if your information is trivial I'll gut you myself."

"No fear of that," Nex said with a smile. He allowed himself to be led into the camp.

For all Stormrage's words that Garithos led a ragged remnant of the Alliance's former glory, the camp was surprisingly clean and orderly. Each tent was arranged in a circle around an open area with a fire pit, backed by other tents facing the opposite direction. It created a grid that seemed confusing at first, but after a few moments inspection became easy to move through.

Closer towards the center of the camp they began walking past supply dumps and armories in the middle of open spaces lit by torches between them and the tents, and sentries on constant watch. The tents themselves changed from touching circles to lines, allowing people to walk between them along paths wide enough for wagons to pass through. They were bigger tents as well, obviously for officers and casters.

In the very center of the camp there was a wide opening with a line of gibbets, some of which were occupied. A cluster of officers were grimly watching a man being whipped at a post. In their center stood a large man, half a head taller than the next tallest officer and wearing a winged helm. His armor was surprisingly plain, without a hint of laquer or gilding, but it was superbly made and fit him perfectly. It was also the heaviest plate Nex had ever seen.

The lieutenant and his escort led Nex to an area not far away, where they had to watch the whipping and listen to the man scream until it was done. Nex counted fifteen lashes while he was there, and he'd arrived after it began. As two enlisted soldiers dragged the man away Garithos turned to the officers. "That is the price of insubordination," he said simply. "And insubordination is only a step away from treasons. Dismissed." His eyes fell on Nex's group, and after a brief word with an adjutant he strode over. "What is this?" he demanded.

The lieutenant saluted sharply. "Lieutenant Kolarn, Lord General. This man claims to have a message for your ears only."

"Does he?" The general turned to Nex. "I recognize that armor and tabard," he said, voice thick with contempt. "You're part of that red scum that occasionally raids our supply lines." He started to turn away. "Put him in chains, and hang him in the morning. Don't bother informing me when the task is complete, either. I don't know why you thought him worth my attention in the first place."

Nex raised his voice as hands grabbed him. "He brought me to you because I told him I have information you might find interesting. It concerns the treachery of blood elves."

Kolarn struck him a solid blow to the side of the head, and his escort started dragging him away. Before they could, however, Garithos abruptly called them back.

On his knees and fighting dizziness, Nex looked up to see Garithos looming over him. "What would remnant filth know about treachery within my ranks?" he demanded.

Nex fought to keep his expression neutral, though he wanted to smile. "We patrol far through the Plaguelands. Undead do not frighten us. Some of our patrols even go so far as Lordamere Lake. Which is how we came to learn about the treachery of your blood elves. It should surprise no one, given that they aren't human. Only humans are capable of true honor."

Garithos waved his hand impatiently, although Nex had the feeling he didn't object to anything he'd said. "What of this treachery?"

"Our scouts noticed that the blood elves were occupied with repairing arcane observatories in Dalaran. By your orders, I assume. But we noticed that when it came time to reach the island at the center of the lake they had no means across. Rather than building their own ships, or requesting the aid of Alliance vessels, they turned to the naga for aid."

"Naga?" The general frowned. "I've not heard of these creatures."

Nex feigned a shudder. "Lucky for you, Lord General. They're monstrosities, half fish, half snake, that slither across the land like vile serpents. They speak a bastardized version of the blood elves' tongue, which only greater proves the untrustworthiness of both races. It should be no surprise they conspire against you."

Garithos rubbed his chin. "The damn elves did in fact come to me for ships, although I had better things to do with my time than provide them. But it's disturbing that they would turn to these creatures for aid. I had wondered how they got across the lake." He abruptly raised his head, looking suspiciously at Nex. "You may be telling the truth. But if you are lying to me, remnant filth, I-"

"What does it matter if I'm lying to you?" Nex cut in sharply.

The General's eyes narrowed. "What?"

"If I'm right, you have a dagger poised at your right flank ready to tear you open at the Scourge's whim. And if I'm wrong this situation still turns to your advantage."

"I fail to see how," Kolarn said, stepping forward. "Lord General, I feel we've listened to this rascal's lies for long enough. He seeks only to foment discontent among our ranks."

Nex seized the opportunity the lieutenant provided. Had Garithos voiced the objection he would have had to tiptoe around it, but now he could confront it openly. "If you fail to see how then I'll explain it to you. Obviously the Lord General has a notion of what I mean, and if he will consent to listen to my advice then I do have a plan."

The lieutenant sneered at him. "You think we'll listen to the plan of one of the dogs that raids our supply lines?"

Nex threw back his head and laughed. "You call that pitiful trickle of wagons provided by dwarven scum "supply lines?" You're surrounded by supposed "allies" who are hardly allies at all. The dwarves give you token aid while much of their strength remains in Ironforge. And now absurd notions fill their heads of sending out their best men. Not to aid you, but on archeology expeditions. Digging in the dirt, of all things! The Scourge drives humanity back every day, and blood elves consort with filthy fish-beings from the sea, and the only ones we can trust are good, solid humans. It is humanity the Scourge intends to destroy, and it must be humanity who saves us."

Garithos had been watching him with narrowed eyes. "I'm willing to hear you out," he said finally.

"Good. Because the situation with the blood elves can only lead to desirable outcomes. First of all you should recall all your troops serving beneath Kael'thas. If the Blood Prince is truly a traitor it would be as good as murder to leave those loyal soldiers under his command. Then, once the blood elves are isolated from the rest of your army, order them to launch an offensive on the Scourge along the northern bank of Lordamere Lake."

Garithos laughed mockingly. "That's your great plan? A full assault against the Scourge fortifications on the northern shore would be su...i...cide..." he trailed off, eyes going to some distant place as a small smile touched his lips.

Nex smiled viciously. "Precisely, my Lord. If the blood elves refuse the command they brand themselves traitors, and you can slaughter them at your leisure. If they attempt the attack and fail then your problem with the arrogant nonhumans is solved, and any who survive the massacre can be rounded up and hung as deserters. And, in the unlikely event that they succeed in the assault, they remain nominally under your command and the victory is credited to you. As I said, only desirable outcomes."

Garithos was fingering his right gauntlet absently as he watched Nex closely. "I wasn't aware the red dogs had such treacherous minds among their ranks."

Nex threw his shoulders back, knowing it would display the red flame on his chest to full effect. "This is our land. We cannot trust any but humans to redeem it."

"No!" Kolarn cried, rushing forward and falling to his knees before the general. "General Garithos, I have no more love for the arrogant elves than any under your command. My family was housed in Dalaran while I fought in the northern campaign, and it was the blood elves and their machinations that led to their deaths. But what this monster suggests is nothing short of genocide of the elven race!"

"The _High_ Elves," Garithos corrected. "Humanity has served as the lapdogs of those elven wizards for far too long. Even now, when I have been assigned as overlord of the army, Kael'thas still cannot obey orders and consorts with our enemies."

"Is _accused_ of consorting with our _supposed_ enemies!" Kolarn shot back. "Even if these naga do exist, what guarantee do we have that they're our enemies?"

The General's expression had steadily darkened as the lieutenant spoke. At the man's final question his patience seemed to snap. Not into fiery anger, but into a cold, hard rage. "Because they're not human," he said quietly.

Nex fought back a smile. Stormrage had been right about the man's overwhelming xenophobia. He was willing to betray his allies at even the accusation of treachery.

Kolarn stared at his commander in shock, then opened his mouth to protest once more. Garithos forestalled him. "Not another word, lieutenant. Insubordination is just a step away from treason, and you're teetering far too close to the brink of both. I've not made up my mind what to do about this news, but you will not speak again in my presence." He turned to Nex. "I have no love for the ragged remnants that turn on any who come near them as viciously as any rabid dog. But I have no time to deal with religious zealots at the moment. If you will tell your people to stop raiding our lines, I will be pleased to ignore the fact that you exist."

Nex fell to one knee and bowed his head. What would a Scarlet Crusader say in this circumstance? "The Light illumine your current venture," he said. His lips writhed around invoking that name, but it seemed to do the job. Garithos turned away in a gesture of cold dismissal.

"Lieutenant, escort this red crusader to the edge of our camp and see him out of sight. If he attempts to return you have my full permission to feather him with arrows."

"Aye, m'lord," Kolarn said. He caught Nex roughly under the arm and dragged him to his feet, then shoved him forward. "Move, dog."

Nex made no protest as he was herded through the camp, and in the shadows even felt it safe to smile slightly.

At the edge of camp, between the professional barricades, the lieutenant turned on him. "Is this what you wanted?" he demanded. "The last remnant of the elven people huddles on that island in Lordamere Lake. Civilians, women, children. They're all going to die because of your lies."

Nex shrugged. "If they want to live, all they have to do is defeat the Scourge on the northern bank." He turned and started to walk away.

"Where are you going?" Kolarn demanded at his back. "What mischief are you planning now?"

Slowing, Nex looked over his shoulder. "I'm going to the eastern shore of Lordamere Lake, and from there will likely receive orders to join the blood elves in their fight against the undead. They are my master's allies, after all."

He turned and slipped into the night, running for the shimmer of water in the distance. He highly doubted the lieutenant would be intelligent enough to simply keep his words to himself. He would probably go and report them to Garithos, who would take them as another attempt by the man to protect the blood elves. If Kolarn didn't tread carefully, he might end up swinging from a rope himself. What was it Garithos had said?

Ah, yes. Insubordination was just a step away from treason.


	21. Chapter 21

My apologies for the long, long delay in updating. I kind of burned myself out, and to be honest I was kind of disheartened by the lack of response my story's been getting. There's only one chapter left after this one, and then the story continues in my Outland/Northrend novel.

So here's the deal. I have a lot of material for my second book, but at the moment I'm not feeling too interested in continuing it if nobody's enjoying it. So I'm going to finish this one, and see if anyone cares whether I start on the second one. If you've enjoyed this so far and want me to continue please tell me.

Chapter Twenty-one

The Assault

It took longer than he'd expected to find the camp of his "allies", the naga.

Of course the fact that the entire eastern bank of Lordamere Lake was a massive marsh didn't help. Not even levitation kept him completely dry, and he was leery of using it out in the open. He might know they were allies, but there was no guarantee the naga wouldn't stick him a trident or whatever it was the snakey bastards used.

He froze at a strange gargling noise on the other side of a bank of willows, and went in more cautiously, one of his heavy daggers enchanted for superior piercing in his hand. The whip-like branches of the trees provided very good cover, allowing him to look out from them without being visible.

A long, curving inlet to the lake stretched out ahead, everything beyond fifty yards obscured by predawn mist. On the bank of this inlet was one of the oddest sights he had ever seen. If he was feeling uncharitable he might have said it was the pathetic attempt at a village created by small children.

There were five of the rickety structures of twigs and branches, lashed together with willow stems. They'd been crudely thatched with lake grass, and the above-ground bucket that formed the floor of the structure was overflowing with more of the grass. One was occupied by an odd whitish-pink creature, vaguely manlike but with a fishlike head and odd, red spines jutting from its back. Both hands and feet were thickly webbed.

Out in the water, accompanied by more of the strange gargling noises, he could see several vees that might have been more of the creatures swimming just below the surface. One popped up with a triumphant "mmmmrrrrrrggggglllll!", a fish flopping in one webbed hand. It swam with surprising swiftness to the little village and tossed the flopping fish into a crude basket woven of more of the grass and willow twigs. Inside were another half dozen fish. Having deposited its catch, the creature dove back into the lake and resumed its fishing.

Nex fell into a squat, watching the odd sight from the cover of the willow branches. He'd heard of these creatures, or something like them. The hot, teeming jungles of Stranglethorn hosted some strange creatures, and murlocs were one of the residents. The fish-men were reclusive, and rarely came within sight of land, but they weren't uncommon down there. North of Stormwind he'd never even heard rumor of them.

Doubtless they were servants-or slaves-of the naga. That they were so busily at work gathering food they obviously didn't need seemed to justify his conclusion.

Now he was faced with a choice. He could continue his search, delving deeper into this miserable swamp with no idea where he was going. Or, banking on his assumption, he could wait until the murlocs filled their basket and one of them ran it to their masters. That would lead him directly where he wanted to go, or at least to a creature that could do so. _If _his assumption was correct.

Another murloc rocketed to shore, a fish held in its teeth, and close behind it a third was surfacing with a triumphant gurgle. They were going fast, these murlocs. It likely helped that most of the men who fished these waters were dead, or undead, and the lake was probably teeming with easy catches. At the rate they were going he wouldn't lose much by waiting, and if he was following a murloc it would reduce his chances of stumbling on more of the creatures or their masters and being forced into a confrontation.

As he'd hoped, before too long one of the murlocs tossed a fish into the basket, which was piled so high that the fish slide right back out again. The murloc gave a confused gurgle, stuffed the fish back in, then turned as if to dive back into the lake. Almost immediately half a dozen more gurgles assailed it, and it hunched in on itself, then bent and picked up the basket. Before too long it was staggering away under the weight and gurgling to itself in obvious ill temper.

Nex waited until it had gone a short distance then eased himself away from the willow branches, skirting wide to avoid the sight of the other murlocs as he followed after the courier. He hadn't gone far before it paused, head bobbing suspiciously, and started to turn around. He quickly sent a web of soothing energy into the murloc, and it continued on its way, completely ignoring him. He stayed a cautious distance back, far enough that any creatures up ahead would see the courier but not him, and he would be able to hide in time should any intercept it.

He hadn't gone far through the thick swamp before they came upon another school of murlocs, these ones sifting water through the hollowed stems of some water plant for some inexplicable purpose. Nex threw a soothing web over them as well as they passed through the crude village. Beyond that they reached a drier patch, one he would have thought ideal for an encampment. But oddly enough (or perhaps not oddly, considering the nature of the naga) the land was bare for several minutes of walking before they passed through an even larger murloc village, this one with a handful of naga in the center directing the efforts of the creatures with long, wicked tridents. It proved more difficult to soothe the minds of these creatures, but Nex managed it and continued on. The courier ignored the naga overseers, and the naga ignored it, and soon they were through the village and in sight of the main encampment.

It was huge. Easily hundreds of naga, half again that many murlocs, and all sorts of odd aquatic creatures. He could see giant turtles, weird massive lizards with long flared tails, odd flying serpents, and more. The naga reclined in more ornate pavilions than the crude huts the murlocs made do with, and many of the turtles were being directed in the effort of moving blocks of stone for a more permanent structure that might have been a fortress or a temple or both.

Soothing the minds of such a throng was a task he couldn't have managed even with the vast power of Stormrage himself at his command. He slowed in following the murloc with its fish basket, and was just considering making himself known when from an oddly circular pool a short distance ahead massive head rose. It had the appearance of a snake or an eel, but if it was either it was larger than anything he'd ever seen before. It was comparable in size to the giant turtles. Worse, its smooth black scales crackled with electric charge, lines of energy rushing towards the head. The creature made an odd hiccuping convulsion, and then it opened its massive mouth and extended a slender, rubbery tongue, the electric current forming a ball at its tip.

Nex fell into a crouch, calling out the words of power for the strongest shield he could manage on such short notice, racing the growing ball of lightning in the creature's mouth. It discharged with a sinister hiss, arcing towards him almost faster than his eye could follow, and hit his shield with a roar. His shield stood for a moment, then buckled, and he felt every bit of hair on his body stand on end before he was blown back ten feet, slamming into one of the crude murloc huts and crumpling it beneath him. From the pain, he was afraid his shoulder had crumpled as well.

The eel rose higher into the air, hissing as more lines of electricity arced up its body towards the head. It had risen high enough to block the rising sun, leaving him in shadow and the watery guardian a black silhouette before him, lit by the actinic glare of the shocks gathering at its mouth. It was recharging with terrifying speed, and it wouldn't be more than ten seconds before it could loose another bolt of lightning.

Nex pushed shakily to his feet. This time rather than trying to shield himself from the blast he loosed his magic offensively, trying to counter the creature's attack. It was more powerful than he had expected, but he was just about certain he would stop it in time when a razor tip pricked his neck, and he heard a strange hissing that he didn't identify as communication for several moments. Then the guardian eel's ball of electricity dissipated, and with a somewhat disappointed hiss the creature sank back below the surface of its circular pool.

Nex moved only his eyes as he glanced over at the weapon held to his throat. There was another wicked prong in sight, and he assumed the third was on the other side of his neck. At the end of the trident loomed one of the most massive naga he'd yet seen, a bulky brute that looked to weigh nearly four hundred pounds, all of it muscle and sinew. The creature hissed a question at him. Then, seeing his incomprehension, spoke fluent if archaic Kaldoreen in a strange sibilant voice. "You've stumbled into an unfortunate secret, Arathi. It will be your death."

Arathi. It was what the first humans to come in contact with the high elves had called themselves. Nex took the risk of turning his head slightly. "It would be," he replied in the same tongue, "if it were a secret to me, and if I had merely stumbled here."

The huge creature did an admirable job of displaying displeasure on that alien face. "Explain," it said curtly. Obviously not one for subtleties.

"I am a servant of Illidan Stormrage, your master. I've been ordered to report to your leader."

The naga continued to glare at him. "The demon hunter is not my master," it finally said. "I serve the Lady Vashj, handmaiden of Immortal Azshara. It was her pleasure to put us at his service, and we will serve as long as it remains her will."

Nex inclined his head. "My mistake, naga. But I have been ordered to report to her in any case."

"You may address me as Myrmidon Salatros," the creature snarled. The finny frills that had lain flat along its neck rose to enclose its face in a circle of spines which rattled together threateningly. Salatros hesitated, then shifted the trident until two of the prongs formed a sort of collar around Nex's throat. "I will guide you to her," it said coldly. A moment later the spot where the two prongs met slammed into the back of his neck, and he stumbled forward awkwardly.

A curiously unfriendly way to treat an ally, but Nex wasn't complaining. He didn't think he'd ever had a warm reception, even among his own kind. As long as he was taken before this Vashj the stupid brute could pick him up and toss him for all he cared.

Farther into the camp the murlocs and aquatic pets and servants thinned, until it was only naga they passed. And among the naga he was starting to see a marked trend the closer they got to the temple under construction at the camp's center. The lighter, more slender naga he assumed to be female were becoming more and more delicate, the frills surrounding their heads becoming larger and larger. What he assumed were the males were becoming larger and larger as well, some of them truly massive. None wore any sort of clothing or ornamentation, but he could feel magic around the females, and some of the males.

Finally they reached a knot of females whose faces appeared nearly human, or at least elvish. Their frills were elaborate, the membrane brightly colored. At their center was a female who looked most elvish of all, at least from the waist up. She had actual hair, black as night and tightly coiled along her back. Whatever changes had come over the highborne night elves during the collapse of the Well of Eternity and the formation of the Maelstrom, the ones which had allowed them to live on the bottom of the sea, it was obvious this female had been one of the first so changed, and only lightly.

She turned with an impatient hiss, surprisingly graceful on her snake-like body, and the way her eyes pierced him dispelled his previous impression that she was nearly elvish. They were reptilian, cold and calculating. "What is this...filth...doing here, Salatros?"

Nex shoved aside the trident, slamming the myrmidon with a powerful psychic blast that froze it, stupefied, for the moment. "I am Nex'thanarak, servant of Illidan Stormrage. I was ordered to report to you."

Her disquieting eyes narrowed. "Were you?" she said softly. Her voice had a breathy, throaty quality to it, but it wasn't nearly as sibilant as many of the other naga. "Many claim to serve him, but where is the proof?"

Nex flat out could not believe anyone would know enough about either the naga or Stormrage to claim any such thing, and even if they did how many would be able to speak to the naga in Kaldoreen or, at least he assumed, Thalassian. Still he had his proof, although it wasn't exactly available. "You know the feel of my Master's power," he said, and drew lightly on the Illidari stone.

The naga were no strangers to magic, and this Vashj herself was very, very powerful. She knew what he was doing. Her eyes widened, and seeing her distress her handmaidens drew protectively around her. The sea witch waved them back, reaching into her coiled hair to draw out a stone identical to his. "I was not aware the Master had any other agents so high in his confidence," she said quietly. "Are you his lieutenant?"

The question seemed innocuous, but Nex was no fool. This Vashj had expected to be second to Stormrage himself, and was not pleased to find a possible contender. Nex looked around at Salatros and the way he, recovered from Nex's attack, now practically groveled in her presence. Her arrogance was not simply the product of her power, though that was great. She also displayed signs of high birth, one used to authority and command. Scattered around the area dozens of her myrmidons lounged a respectful distance away, but it would take but a gesture from her and they would converge and rip his limbs off.

Well. It wasn't usually his style to pay attention to rank or honorifics. Stormrage put up with his cheek for whatever reason, likely too secure in his own power to care. But Nex had a feeling this Lady of the Naga would be somewhat more prickly about it. And standing in the middle of her camp with hundreds of her warriors a command away from trying to kill him was hardly the place to test her patience. So for once he bent the knee. Literally.

"I am merely a servant, Lady," he said, "tasked with errands the Master considers important enough to spare a fraction of his attention upon. I was ordered to deliver to you the item I was sent to retrieve, then accept your commands for future tasks."

She looked at him, her fine, too-human features looking odd with the finny frill surrounding her head like a crown. If he had seen just her face he might even have called her attractive. If here eyes were shut, at least. "Give me the item," she said imperiously. Nex quickly drew out the scroll he'd meticulously memorized and copied, holding it out to her. One of her handmaidens took it from him with a menacing hiss and proffered it to her mistress in a low bow. She took it with idle curiosity, cracking it open and perusing the contents. "Ah yes. The spell to enchant weapons for undead slaying. A minor thing, but it will aid our new allies in the task to come."

Nex remained on one knee, waiting, but she seemed to have forgotten about him. Finally he risked himself enough to speak. "What are my orders, Lady?"

She snapped a surprisingly chill glare in his direction. "You are still here, mortal?" He made no reply, and she gave a more delicate hiss of irritation. "The master has gone on ahead. If he had plans for you I do not know them; he has not contacted me in some time. For the moment we prepare to aid our new allies in combating the Scourge. Personally I have no interest in the filthy undead, but if our allies are prepared to take the brunt of the losses I would be happy to hand the Master an army at the cost of a few boats and some myrmidons to guard them."

"If the Master has no task for me then I am at your service, Lady," Nex said. After a short hesitation he took a risk. "He awaits us in Outland, then?"

She hissed, in anger this time, and lightning danced from one frill to the next and down the fins covering her spine. "If he has not seen fit to tell you, mortal, do not suppose I will." She turned away. "If you're so eager to help do feel free to join our allies in battling the Scourge. Whatever trivial part you play in furthering the Master's plans will doubtless speak well for you when next you have occasion to use that pretty little toy of yours." She started to slither away in that oddly graceful serpentine glide the naga had perfected for use on land.

Nex stopped drawing on the stone's power, wondering if he should simply leave. He didn't have long to wonder. One of the guards paused in turning to follow his mistress, and his frills made an odd rattling noise as he shook them at Nex. "The mistress has given you orders, lesser creature. Be gone from our camp until you obey them."

"And when I do?" Nex asked.

The naga hissed. "Then hide in whatever hole you rat-creatures dwell in until you are called for."

. . . . .

"Discipline is good," Lord General Garithos was saying, "but even so there are some who find time to betray their own even while battling a terrible enemy."

"So I see," Puros said, gazing at the figure hanging still atop the scaffold. An unsanitary practice, leaving the body to rot after it had been hung. If discipline was truly as good as Garithos claimed such displays should not have been necessary, but it wasn't his place to say so. "What was his crime?"

The general snorted sourly. "Treason, to whit failure to obey the direct order of a superior. Lieutenant Kolarn considered himself a man of principles, but his actions suggested otherwise."

Puros shook his head. "Tragic, to see such things in these desperate times. And a false man indeed who turns on Azeroth when our situation is so desperate."

"Tragic indeed," Garithos agreed, turning away. "Would that the army had more worthy souls such as yourself, Lord Puros. Had we a hundred more like you Arthas himself crouching in the ruins of our once-great city would tremble on his shattered throne."

"You know of me?" Puros was surprised.

"We know you well," the general replied, moving slowly across the clear area at the center of camp towards where the command tent stood open to the chill breeze. "The contingent Stormwind sent to reinforce Chillwind Pass remains there still. You have our gratitude for leading those men north and seeing their position fortified before you went in pursuit of Church matters."

"My part was small," Puros demurred, falling into step beside Garithos. His paladins flanked him not far behind, along with a huddle of Garithos's senior officers. "How fares that contingent?"

"Well. It has endured numerous attacks, but weathers them stoically. It is obvious King Wrynn sent the best of his soldiers to answer the call, though a lesser man might have sent the dregs. I had occasion to tour that outpost recently, and reinforced your men with a team of dwarven riflemen and siege engineers. Sturdy as your men are, their ranged support was a trifle lacking."

There was an odd edge to Garithos's tone as he spoke of the dwarves. Puros wondered if that team had insulted the general in some way, and detailing them to reinforce Chillwind Pass was the man's way of getting them out of his sight. "I'm grateful to you for taking care of my men in my absence, Lord General."

Garithos waved that away. "It was during that time that I heard the stories of you venturing alone into the Plaguelands in pursuit of a dreadlord. That you returned from that foul place at all bespeaks your valor and might, but succeeding in destroying the dreadlord as well is an impressive feat indeed. Perhaps you would honor me with a recounting of the events."

"I should be glad to." They reached the command tent and passed through the open flaps, where the general led them to seats around a solid oak table surrounded by fine chairs. The presence of such unwieldy furniture was testament to how long this camp had stood in one place. Against an enemy where the usual recourse was retreat or be overrun, what Garithos had accomplished here was truly impressive.

A footman began pouring drinks from a pitcher on a side table. "Will you and your men have some ale, Lord Puros," Garithos asked, motioning for the man to pour him water. The general grimaced slightly. "Only dwarvish stout, I'm afraid. Our supply lines stretch a long way from any true allies, so we can't get anything better."

"I should be pleased to. I've always considered dwarf ale to be the finest available."

Garithos's grimace twisted into a genuine frown. "To each his own," he said shortly. Puros didn't know quite what to make of the response, so he ignored it. Perhaps the man didn't like dwarves.

Puros accepted the first drink and took a long draw, sighing in genuine enjoyment. "Thank you, General. We've long been on the road and away from even such small pleasures as these."

"Think nothing of it." Puros winced slightly at the word "nothing", his mind drawn unpleasantly back to Nex and their current task. As if Garithos had read his mind the general continued. "Now that we are settled, I'd be pleased to hear what business brings you to my camp."

Puros took another long pull from his mug, frowning. "Grim business. We came north from Stormwind in pursuit of a criminal, and we pursue him still. A thief and a murderer, and a very dangerous man. He was last seen around the ruins of Lordaeron City, although we have reason to believe he made his way to Hearthglen from there."

"Ah, Hearthglen." Garithos took a sip of his own water and scowled. "Disgusting people, those Scarlet Crusade mongrels. Vicious as wild dogs and twice as likely to take a bite out of you. One of their emissaries paid us a visit a few days ago. Unpleasant fellow, wearing ill-fitting armor and gaunt as a corpse, all full of trickery and low cunning. Completely lacking in courtesy and respect for his superiors, though he spoke fairly. Despite his flaws the message he brought did aid the Alliance army, however."

Puros had perked up at hearing that description. It seemed beyond the realm of coincidence that this Scarlet emissary could be Nex, but at the same time Nex's last known destination had been Hearthglen. Was it possible the fiend had been ordered by his master to deliver some message to Garithos?

The general had continued speaking during his musings, and Puros's attention snapped back to him when he heard the words "all-out attack on the northern bank."

"Beg pardon, General?" he asked.

Garithos frowned. "_Lord_ General," he said sternly. "I was saying that the blood elves, apparently acting of their own volition, have mounted a full-scale attack on the undead fortifications along the northern bank of Lordamere Lake."

Puros stared at the man in disbelief. During his passage through the camp he hadn't seen the slightest sign of any major mobilization. "Our allies are fighting the Scourge and we sit here idle?"

"Allies?" Garithos said with a sneer. "Fine allies they make, balking at every turn, and finally acting without my leave. A good general knows that any attack should be carefully planned and executed. I'm not going to risk my men's lives rushing in to save a bunch of demi-human fools who can't even follow orders."

Finally Puros understood the odd expressions and statements the general had been making. Though his speech was fair, in one unguarded moment Puros had a glimpse into the man's mind, and saw the raging bigotry and hatred there. Perhaps the blood elves had attacked without being ordered to. They'd endured the loss of their home thanks to Arthas and the Scourge, and they wished for vengeance. But whatever the situation here, it was obvious Garithos was delighted at the prospect of one of the Alliance's oldest and truest allies, in fact the first ally, being wiped out.

He stood, motioning for his paladins to stand as well. "If you would, Lord General, could you describe the Scarlet emissary?" Garithos hesitated, suspicious, but finally did so. The description perfectly matched Nex. So his fears were correct. "Did you learn anything of where this emissary was going next?"

"Perhaps," Garithos said slowly. "He took leave of my escort at the northeast side of the camp. Lieutenant Kolarn claims he was going to aid the blood elves, but there is no knowing what to believe from the mouth of that traitor." The general laughed harshly. "Why, Kolarn claimed he heard the man say that the emissary's master was allies with the blood elves!"

Puros met this news with alarm. Nex was a slippery speaker, and often lied, but he was also an arrogant bastard, and when he was sure it wouldn't make a difference he said exactly what he was thinking. Could it be true that Illidan was trying to co-opt the blood elves? If Garithos's racism had gone beyond words to deeds then the elves might have a reason for it. "Thank you for your hospitality and aid, Lord General. I have reason to believe this emissary is the man we seek. With your leave we will depart to continue the hunt."

"I see," Garithos said. By his expression he was coming to some conclusions of his own regarding that bit of news. Puros wondered just what Nex had told the general. "Yes, by all means hunt the man down. If you catch him be sure he suffers a quick and brutal death."

"Oh, we will," Jarvak said with a harsh laugh. The man had changed since Moran's death. He was grim and surly, now, and if anything pushed them to hunt and kill Nex even harder than Puros himself.

Puros couldn't spare the man much thought now, however. The thought of the elves, deprived of their home and beleaguered by an unrelenting foe, facing that foe alone set his blood to boiling. The thought of those poor souls facing further mischief thanks to Illidan and his servants was unbearable. He swung onto the remount Garithos had provided, his men mounting behind him, and with no more delay they were pushing hard for the front lines.

. . . . .

"To the south as well, now!" Eldre Theril shouted from his position atop a wagon. That wagon carried some of their most prized possessions from their abandoned village of Corona's Blaze. More prized still were the lives of the few villagers they'd managed to gather and evacuate this far south, through undead and worse. Few of them were warriors, but they'd answered the call of Prince Kael'thas to join in the fight against the Scourge.

But it seemed that before they could join that fight it had found them, and at their most vulnerable.

"Go!" Saire shouted to her father, leaping atop another wagon at the northern end of the caravan and hurling scorching flames at the undead that besieged them there. "I'll do my best here. Imperina du Highborne!"

"Greater than any foe!" Theril shouted back, before turning his powerful staff on the undead rolling like a wave over a hill to the south.

"Hiezal, gather a dozen men and reinforce the south!" she called. Hiezal, with a face that could have been chiseled by an artist seeking perfection, was now so filthy and weary from the constant struggles they'd endured that he looked more one of those magic-crazed Wretches than a proud high elf. He didn't even respond to her order, simply staggered down the line, plucking a handful of weary young elves bearing the crudest of weapons away to fight on another front. Another, when they couldn't even hold the first.

He looked so defeated. To think that when she'd first returned to Corona's Blaze to deliver Prince Kael'thas's call to arms her childhood friend had tried to snare her into his bed. Their plight was desperate indeed, if even vain Hiezal was cured of his desire to woo a mage of the Kirin Tor.

She turned away grimly as a shout from the north lines drew her attention back to the fighting. The undead which had pursued them for so long had finally caught up, and they couldn't have done so at a worse time. They'd heard word that the northern bank of Lordamere Lake was overrun with undead fortifications, but even in their darkest fears they hadn't supposed they'd reach those defenses only to be caught between them and their pursuit in a perfect vice.

"Fight on, Coronans!" she called, sending small spheres of flame out to latch onto the heads of the undead pressing their line most strongly. The spheres exploded on contact in a directional burst that usually took the enemy's head clean off. If only that was enough to stop them. "Fight on! We have to buy time for the Elder to clear our retreat south!"

But when she glanced back to see how her father's efforts fared, her heart quailed. They'd hoped to fly before their enemy, routing any that stood in their path and outrunning the rest. But to the south all she saw were skeletal enemies and shambling corpses, if anything a force greater than that which had pursued them.

She couldn't focus on both fronts at once. She had to hold the north, and while many promising young men and women had been raised in her village, few were experienced battle mages or warriors. A shout turned her head to the west, and she saw the northern front buckling to try to intercept a phalanx of undead pushing at their unprotected flank. She turned east to see a similar phalanx pushing in there, but no one was rushing to intercept them.

"Hold the line, Simarie!" she called, leaping across the wagon and sprinting east, as she went calling upon her deepest magics to strike the enemy with flame. It was perhaps fortunate that no one had moved to intercept those undead: they were for the moment separate from her people, and wide open to one of her most devastating spells. It was a spell she could not safely use along the lines, for fear of hitting her own people, but here it was ideal.

She skidded to a halt barely ten yards away from the undead's shambling charge, focusing the spell matrix, calling out the words of power, and finally releasing the spell. Flame gouted out of the ground in a huge ring, rising straight up into the air and setting all the undead on fire. They continued their charge almost as if they didn't notice, although a few staggered and went down, but before they could escape the ring a similar gush of flame struck them from above, smashing them flat between two fiery walls. Only one of the score of undead staggered out of that inferno, and she caught it by the chest before its barely responsive arms could reach for her. A moment later flames gouted along its bones, searing the joints to ash, and the thing fell away in a clatter of loose bones.

When she turned back, the undead had pushed through the northern front in two places and were ignoring the enemies they passed to make straight for the wagons in the center of the caravan, where nearly fifty children huddled.

Saire rushed to defend them, fighting back despair. How long could they last before being overwhelmed? Her people were fierce fighters, driven by their hatred for the monsters that had destroyed their beloved Quel'thalas and the Sunwell at its heart. But fierce as they were they still tired, in fact where on the brink of exhaustion, and the undead were relentless. Relentless, surprisingly strong, and though clumsy still eerily fast. The only advantage her people had over the waves of undead were that the creatures completely lacked subtlety. They knew no other strategy but unrelenting assault, and their attacks were crude and easy to predict. Which was why this unexpected attack on the elven children seemed so eerily sinister.

She called on the frost she had far less experience with, hurling tiny bolts of ice at the undead. On impact the bolts slowed the shambling figures, slowed them enough that the defenders from the line, horrified at realizing their enemy's intent, could abandon their posts to cut them down. But that only left larger openings for the undead to push through, and Saire was forced to rush back north while their east flank remained undefended. It was a frantic few minutes, but finally they managed by sheer desperation to drive the enemy back for a moment, coordinating a wall of flame that would hold even the undead at bay for a time.

Then with a cry of dismay a point along their southern line was breached. Not a few holes by which a handful of undead could rush in, but a full break, with three of the young elves actually turning and fleeing, while Hiezal cursed at their backs. Without hesitation or remorse the undead began pouring through, widening the breach as they attacked the defenders to either side of the hole from front, side, and rear. She was needed north, she was needed east, and now she was needed south. Theril had rushed to the aid of the defenders in the west, and for the moment was holding them back. Saire looked around helplessly, then ran towards the hole, hurling fire from either hand as she went, summoning the power for an even greater spell once she got within range. She had no choice. She couldn't hold back tragedy while catastrophe loomed behind.

Before she could reach the line and loose her spell a figure swathed in a dark cloak dropped from seemingly nowhere into the middle of the undead forcing their way through the breach. He disappeared among the seething ranks, and for a moment she thought his heroic appearance would end as nothing more than a laughable failure. Then a roaring wall of fire sprang out of the ground, expanding in all directions and washing over the undead. Skin seared, and she heard sharp _cracks_ as bones fractured and shattered under the heat. Undead voices raised in a terrible wail, the first noise they'd made yet. Even the high elves along the line were forced to leap away with cries of dismay, although their strange benefactor had focused his spell skillfully to prevent it from reaching them.

A good half of the undead caught by the blast vanished into motes of ash and blackened bone shards. The others sprawled on the ground, some twitching but most still. The tail end of the blast had knocked undead flying in every direction, and for a brief moment there was a lull in the fighting to the south as the other undead farther away rushed to fill in the gap their fallen comrades had made.

Saire's father leapt atop one of the wagons, frost glowing around one hand, fire around the other. "Regroup!" he shouted. "Orderly retreat to the west! Now, while they're distracted!" Then he began raining fire and ice down upon the undead still blocking their escape westwards in an impressive display of arcane mastery.

In the center of the devastation to the south the cloaked figure straightened. The figure was short and slender, of a size with most blood elves, but a blast of wind created by the vacuum of his spell pushed his hood back, revealing a pale, gaunt human. In each hand he held an odd tapered rod, about a foot long and sharpened to a wicked point at either end. They seemed ridiculous tools for fighting undead, but as he quickly moved to intercept the first wave of undead filling the opening he'd created it was obvious he was no stranger to fighting this foe. Rather than trying to stab the creatures with the rods' razor tips he was instead using the rods as short, crude clubs. Crude, but nevertheless effective; in his hands, they almost seemed an extension of his arms.

The undead who'd been flung back by his spell came around on either side of him, surrounding him on all sides. The human glanced around quickly, then darted forward to the attack. Showing uncanny speed and grace he ducked under a rusty sword swung by a skeleton and smashed his rod into the skeleton's shoulder, shattering the bone and sending sword and arm flying away. Without pausing he spun, slamming the other rod into the skeleton's face while he blocked a crude club's downward swing with the first rod. He kicked out with a booted foot, sweeping a zombie's legs out from under it and as a continuation of the spin swinging a rod in an upward slash that took the creature's head clean off its shoulders.

On and on he danced, creating a pocket in the midst of the endless ranks of undead and giving Saire's people a chance to regroup and begin their retreat with only the enemy to the north to worry about. He never seemed to stop moving, and although the undead all closed on him at once from all sides he somehow was never overwhelmed by their numbers. And his rods were not his only weapons. As he fought he sent out spells: devastating magical shackles to bind his enemies until he could strike them down; pulses of shadow energy that rippled through the undead, knocking them from their feet and leaving them stunned for a short while. He rained down fire on their heads whenever he had a moment's opening, and at one point when the press became too thick he again dropped to the ground and sent out a ringwall of fire.

As a few defenders picked off the undead that managed to get around the terrible human, the majority of her village retreated, leaving most of their goods behind and fleeing towards the safety of Lordamere Lake in the distance. Saire was one of the ones who remained, wielding her fire to keep the undead attacks scattered and lacking any momentum.

A shriek so high-pitched it made her teeth hurt shivered through the air, and she looked up to see six gargoyles dropping from the sky towards the human. Though the animate stone creatures possessed wicked teeth and claws, as well as carrying diseases and curses ingrained into the spell-matrix which animated them, it seemed their current strategy was to simply drop from the sky atop the human and crush him flat.

Saire gathered fire around her closed fist and flung it hissing towards the lead gargoyle. It struck the skeletal creature full in the head, igniting its ragged hair and cracking stone with sharp _whumph_. Though the magical blast wasn't enough to destroy the creature, it did send it reeling away. Without missing a beat the human dove into a roll through his undead attackers, getting out of the way just as the remaining five smashed into the ground. Almost immediately the gargoyles pushed back into the air, hovering like giant bats, and then they rushed him once more. The undead, too, were closing in, and things didn't look good for the off-balance human.

Saire pressed her lips together in irritation. Her people were still retreating, and she needed to buy more time. If the human's diversion failed now the undead would resume their attack. On the other hand, his presence had conveniently lured large numbers of undead into packing tight in a very small small space, one which was blessedly free of targets which might suffer from, ahem, friendly fire. At one point she might have worried about the human, but after humanity had stood by while Quel'thalas burned, after Garithos and the Alliance army had set her Prince to impossible task after impossible task while openly accusing him of treachery, she had no sympathy for any human. Not anymore.

So she finished crafting the matrix for the powerful spell she'd been creating, drawing in ever more fiery energy, and while the opportunity remained she called down a massive conflagration of flames directly on the human's position, striking the entire area with a devastating magical firestorm.

Gargoyles and undead withered under the punishing spell, blackening and turning to ash at the center, while along the edges they fled, spreading the flames farther through the ranks. And in their center the human crouched, hands held out to either side maintaining some sort of protective ward. His teeth were gritted, and his hair and skin were charring under the brutal assault, but somehow he managed to keep the worst of it back. And that standing in the epicenter of the spell.

The human turned his gaze to look at her, and Saire expected some sort of accusation, some sort of curse. Instead the man yelled "Go, now! Flee to the main camp while you still have a chance!"

Saire stared at him in equal parts incredulity and admiration. Then her father caught her arm and tugged at it firmly. "Come, daughter," he shouted over the roar of flames. "The human has bought us some time, let's use it."

Saire allowed herself to be led away, running after her people who had successfully broken away and were retreating with all speed towards the encampment in the distance. She looked back only once, and what she saw made her stop dead.

The undead had fallen back, but not because they'd given up their pursuit. The creature that led this band of the Lich King's minions, the one that had guided undead to break through the lines and assault innocent children in favor of more dangerous targets, had finally made its appearance and was challenging the human.

It was a banshee, one of the former Rangers of Quel'thalas who in death had been turned to slavery under Arthas.


	22. Chapter 22

Hey everyone. Thought it was going to be just one more chapter but it looks as if it'll be two. So, um, yay.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Ice and Hellfire

Puros didn't know what to make of the boats which set on the shore in the distance, towed by massive creatures like brawny snakes with arms. The boats themselves were crude, as were the weapons and armor of most of the elves which leapt from them to rush the undead fortifications up the bank. Their rush didn't go far, for the undead had already seen them and were responding with an endless wave of skeletal figures and shambling corpses that reached the lake shore at nearly the same time as the first boats, eliciting a savage first strike in ankle-deep water.

He turned to his men. "It seems the elves want to land. Maybe we should help them do so." He gave the signal to form a line, and his paladins drew up alongside him, couching the lances they'd drawn from Alliance stores in their stirrups. A pitiful handful against the massive battle they faced, but they would make their presence known, by the Light!

Jarvak alone hesitated in joining the line. "I see no sign of our quarry."

Puros turned in his saddle with a snarl. "Quarry be damned! I'll not ride by and let others face the enemy of humanity in my stead."

"Perhaps you should, milord," Jarvak said stubbornly. "Since the time we first had the devil in ropes we've been led on one damn wild goose chase after another, and none bringing us any closer to what we set out to do! He claims there's a demonlord in Dalaran, and the next thing we're teleporting there for mercy knows what reason! That bastard Moran actually raised his hand against me when I tried to do no more than finish the task we came all the way from Stormwind for!"

"Peace!" Puros thundered. Even in his belligerence Jarvak flinched. "Have you no shame, man, to speak of the dead-your own brother in the faith!-with such coarse language?"

Though he looked chastised, Jarvak refused to relent. "I speak only the truth. And a sad shame it is, that he struck me to save the man that would later kill him."

"I'll hear no more of this," Puros declared. He raised his poleaxe and pointed it at the spot on his right. "Get in the line."

"No." Jarvak suited his words by roughly sawing on the reins of his courser, causing the gelding to snort and dance sideways. "I'll do what we all should be doing, and report our findings to Mistress Shadowsong. At least she offers hope of completing our task!"

Young Mattan tensed so much in his saddle that his own mount danced. He barely seemed to notice, so hard was he glaring at their brother. "You dare disobey a direct order from a superior?"

Puros sighed. "Easy, lad. Perhaps Jarvak has a point. Maiev will want to know of our findings so she can continue the hunt, and her task is as pressing as the elves' battle with the undead. Go, Jarvak. But do not think I will forget this insolence."

"You've forgotten insolence and worse in favor of that murderer," Jarvak shot back, and then he was gone, galloping for the line of forest to the northwest.

With another sigh Puros led his few men in their charge to support the elves on their left flank. Perhaps they could do little good here, and Jarvak's task was more pressing. But if every man of them died, they would die fighting for humanity as they'd worn by the Holy Light to do.

. . . . .

It was a blessed relief when the flames around him finally died.

Nex had feared he'd be grievously wounded in that cataclysmic spell, for all he fought to shield himself. But it would be a short-lived relief, he feared, for now that the flames were gone the undead would renew their assault. So he fought the pain, surging power into his demon skin to speed his healing. As with his ward, the demon skin had protected him from the worst of the heat, but even it wasn't proof.

No more time: they had to be coming at him by now. Gripping his torpedoes, now red-hot from the heat of the spell, he glanced around quickly searching for the first assailant to make itself known.

But none of the undead were attacking.

In fact, they had retreated to well beyond the radius of the spell's devastation. Nex frowned, sure this couldn't be a good sign. The undead never relented in their attack, not even in the face of overwhelming defeat. Knowing that, he didn't have to feel the powerful magic approaching to know he had drawn the attention of this group's leader.

It was a strange magic. Undoubtedly unwholesome and full of corruption, but rather than the fiery, living-but-desecrated corruption of familiar demonic magic it was the cold, dead putrefaction of the grave. At least that is how it seemed to him.

He came to his feet, shaking off the remainder of his pain. It hurt to move, but that couldn't be helped. With a last wary glance at the ring of undead surrounding him with eerie motionlessness, he turned north to where the ring was opening up to allow the leader to approach.

At first her appearance might have deceived, from a distance and in any other circumstance. She was diminutive, small even by the standards of elf females, swathed in a black cloak and with a heavy, fine longbow in one hand and a full quiver on her back and at either hip. There was no sign she was anything but what she appeared.

As if she sensed his thoughts she lifted her free hand, flawless and smooth but the cold blue of a corpse, and pulled down her hood, revealing a shock of hair white as grave lichen and eyes that burned a malevolent red. Nex shut his own eyes, looking at her with his second sight, and the vision of a palely beautiful animate corpse was replaced by something entirely different.

She didn't appear to have a corporeal body at all, or if she did have a physical form it was crudely thrown over her true self, like a crude funeral shroud wrapped around a body decayed to dust. Her true form was oddly translucent, the skin of her face stretched tight over the bone, inky black hair streaming behind her in an ethereal wind, and skeletal limbs draped in a light, tattered dress which billowed in that same nonexistent breeze.

Some sort of specter, he deemed, although generally such creatures were locked in the final moment of torment felt during a violent death. He'd never seen one that could affect the physical world with more than vague attempts, more laughable than fearsome to any familiar with the true dangers of the occult world.

"Human," she purred in Common, circling around him along the inner ring of her motionless minions, as gracefully as a cat. "Why are you disturbing my fun?"

Nex replied in her own tongue. "All living creatures are by nature selfish. What do I care about you when I have my own games to enjoy?"

Her eyes widened. "You know Thalassian?"

"Half the world's arcane tomes are penned in that language. I'd be an uneducated man indeed if I didn't."

She laughed. In life it might have been beautiful, but now it had a haunting quality that made the hair stand up on his arms. "I like you, human. And far better to kill you than my own kind." She canted her head inquisitively. "I asked you why you attacked me."

"The elves are my allies. I fought to protect them."

She met those words with a look of extreme satisfaction. "I thought that must be it! So, a human finally comes to the aid of the elves," a strange smile ghosted across the pale, dead lips of her physical form. "This is such an unexpected thing that I must deal with it personally."

Nex straightened, grimacing at the way his seared skin tugged. That elf bitch had done him no favors with that last spell of hers, least of all with an enemy still to face. To add to his wounds and the power he'd already expended on her minions, the Illidari stone remained short of fully charged, and Stormrage's odd distance from him was causing the recharging to go even slower, as well as making the passive power it offered less potent.

Not good. Beyond those problems this enemy's nature was outside his experience, and she was powerful. Not a good combination. "So, you're one of those former Rangers of Quel'thalas that Arthas first murdered, then raised to serve him. You must embrace that service wholeheartedly."

Her smile vanished. "What?" she hissed.

"You're a monster, in every sense of the word. I saw you set your undead on innocent children, ignoring more dangerous enemies. Children of your own kind."

"My own kind," she repeated, and her disconcerting smile returned. "What are my kind, anymore? What am I, but a slave to torment? A monster, you call me, and a monster I am. In life I was Imelda Woodspark, Ranger of Quel'thalas. In death I have become no more than a banshee, slave to my master and his master above him. And not even my bow is my most fearsome weapon." She laughed, and he felt his skin crawl. "But what are you? Not human, though I called you that. I feel the corrupt energies which give strength to your limbs."

Nex had questioned his humanity on many occasions. In fact, it seemed like everyone he met had at one point or another. Still, to hear himself compared to this loathsome bitch was unusually unsettling. "If you are a slave to torment I would consider it a pleasure to free you," he said, hefting his torpedoes.

Obviously Imelda took his words as an end to their conversation, for with blurring speed she nocked an arrow to her bow, raised, and loosed straight for his heart.

Nex twisted to the side, batting the arrow away with his left hand torpedo. He noticed too late the odd blue glow wafting over the arrowhead, like mist streaming off of ice on a warm day, and when his torpedo connected with the shaft he felt cold flow down his arm, potent enough to defeat his demon skin. It flowed quickly across his entire body, slowing his movements, and though he could feel that the effects were temporary another arrow was already in the air heading towards him, and a third arrow being set to the string. All had that same cold glow.

So he could not block or parry these arrows, only dodge them. He raised his hands to form a spell matrix for a shield, calling out the word of power, and when the arrow struck and rebounded he once again felt the chill flow through him. So not even magical defenses would protect him from the effects. She could shoot four every ten seconds, if he was any judge, and the effects lasted roughly six or seven seconds, he guessed as he felt his demon skin combat the chill. As he tried to dodge the last arrow and felt his movements further slowed he realized that the chilling effect was cumulative as well. It struck his shield, bouncing away, and he felt his movements further slowed. Another arrow approaching.

It seemed her strategy was straightforward. Against weak enemies the arrow would be enough to slay them. But against stronger enemies any defense but speed became their undoing, and even speed was eventually eroded by her relentless barrage of cold arrows.

His only option was to not get hit. He could manage that, assuming he could avoid enough arrows to let the effects he was already suffering from fade away. Imelda wore no weapon but her bow, so once he closed on her this battle was over.

The fourth arrow struck his shield, breaking it, and the fifth was in the air, the sixth soon to be. He was slowed, yes, but only his own reflexes and muscles. His weight remained the same, and gravity pulled all things downward with equal speed.

Nex allowed himself to go completely limp, dropping to the ground like a sack of rocks. It wasn't exactly the most pleasant landing on cold, stony soil, but the arrow sailed past. He pushed off with all his speed and strength, rolling, holding his breath as he did so, and as the next arrow passed overhead and he heard the whine of the one she'd loosed after he dropped to the ground approaching, he could only hope he'd escaped it. He could already feel the cold abating from his limbs, and if he could dodge this last one...

A sharp _whang_ sounded right next to his ear, and a spark raised from the arrow striking a stone stung his cheek, but the arrow ricocheted away from him. He finished his roll on his hands and knees and pushed off as a runner would, dashing full out for her. When she loosed her next arrow he dove into a roll beneath it, coming up in a zig-zag pattern to make tracking him more difficult, and the next arrow went wide. He felt the last of the chill leave his bones, and he fairly flew across the remaining ten yards to her, prepared to bat aside her bow with one torpedo while he drove the other into her eye, simultaneously to avoid his movements being slowed by contact with the arrow. She couldn't nock an arrow to the string in time, and she had no other defenses. The bitch was his.

As he covered the rapidly closing distance he noticed that she wasn't even attempting to fit an arrow to the string, and his eyes darted up to her face to see that she was smiling triumphantly.

_Not even my bow is my most fearsome weapon_. No archer, even the most skilled, failed to have at least a dagger to protect himself. It was too easy to close on them, and their defenses too absent, for them to rely on the bow alone.

Acting on sudden instinct he checked his forward motion in a sideways dive, trying to put as much distance between himself and his enemy as he could. Even as he did Imelda gave a screech that made his soul writhe, and her corporeal form sloughed off to reveal her banshee form. Even as her form changed she was rushing forward, and in the split second between beginning her phase and fully assuming spectral form she closed the distance between him with a speed that went from blindingly fast to inhumanly so.

Desperate, Nex used his levitation spell to propel him backwards as well as upwards. Not even levitation would act quickly enough to take him away from an enemy less than a split second away, so he overloaded the spell's matrix. The result was the same as if he'd been caught in the center of an explosion, and he was thrown violently upwards and backwards, flipping end over end in an uncontrollable spin.

Just before the explosion really caught him and flung him away he thought he felt a numbness in his arm, and looked down to see her terrifying form reaching for him. No, not for him, _into_ him. Her hand was literally inside his arm, a wrong feeling that filled him with a primal terror he couldn't identify. She appeared to be trying to get the rest of her form into him as well. Then the explosion fully caught him and yanked him away, and she gave a shriek and moved to pursue with that same inhuman speed. But, for the moment, he was safely away.

Although not unscathed. There was a reason casters didn't go around overloading spell matrices on a whim. It was a splendid way for a caster to give himself a smashing headache. Nex could already feel it coming on, so strong his vision was doubling, as he fell to the ground. But he couldn't allow himself to give in to the pain, because for one thing he didn't want to hit the ground hard enough to break his bones.

And for another thing, he didn't want to touch the ground at all. Not with that banshee anywhere near him.

With supreme effort he managed to form another levitation matrix and empower it, first slowing his fall and then slowing his tumultuous spin until he was soaring over the ground northwards at the same speed he'd been moving after the explosion, and drifting downwards softly as a feather.

The first thing he did when he got his levitation under control was to look around wildly for any sign of the banshee. It took longer than he'd expected, but finally he saw her several hundred yards away, back in physical form, sprinting headlong after him across blighted Scourge terrain.

Interesting. Why would she choose her physical form to pursue a swiftly moving enemy, when her spectral form was so much faster? Was it possible she could only maintain that form, and that speed, for a few moments?

He looked behind him and saw a convenient tree, dead and leafless but with high, thick branches. It was as good a place to land as any, so he tweaked the levitation to fall even faster and alighted on one of the top branches, which barely sagged under his slight weight. As he got his balance he shifted a few perceptions in his mind. So Imelda hadn't shed her form earlier to reveal the banshee form beneath. She'd somehow phased from her physical form to the plane of her banshee form, allowing it to take precedence, and then phased back to her physical form when her attack failed and she was forced to pursue.

Strange. He couldn't imagine how any creature was able to possess two forms on two different planes and phase so quickly and easily between them, but that must be what she was doing. He'd seen phasing before, if in simpler ways: in fact Lynda the Demonologist's favored method of subduing powerful demons was to banish them to a phase in which they were harmless. He was sure this banshee's phase shift was much less than harmless. And considering the way she had rushed at him, had in fact started to rush _into_ him, it was likely she was attempting possession. The phase change likely made this possession easier.

He bit back a curse, staring at the creature sprinting after him as tirelessly as he himself could run. Now that was a damned nuisance. From a distance she was as deadly as any archer he had seen, with attacks specifically meant to slow him down. She could either kill him from a distance or slow his movements to the point where she could get close enough to possess him. And the main weakness of archers, their vulnerability at melee range, was her greatest strength.

Well. If phasing eliminated an archer's weaknesses, it possessed vulnerabilities of its own. On some planes creatures were more susceptible to magic than on the physical plane. Particularly, the rule of thumb was that the farther one went from the physical plane the more vulnerable to magical attacks one became. The fact that the plane Imelda was phasing to allowed her to actually pass into him, without physical limitations, suggested she'd drifted far from this plane indeed.

There was a quick but simple way to test it. Throw a spell at her in banshee form and see what happened. She had no reason to shift to banshee form at a distance, but the next time she did he'd try it out.

Until then...he began gathering a potent spell that would literally incinerate the flesh off her bones, preparing it and aiming it as she closed the distance between them. At the extreme range, nearly five hundred yards, he sent it at her. The spell manifested as a line of fire, tracking her movements and closing on her swifter than a spark following a line of gunpowder. Within a few moments it reached her and the spell went off, burning the sparse diseased vegetation within five yards in every direction to ash with a dull _whumph_.

Imelda continued running through the flames, completely unscathed.

Nex stared for a moment. It was possible he'd missed. It was also possible she was immune to fire, and possibly other schools of magic. If she was immune to some other types of magical attacks, or even all types, that still didn't completely stymie him. "Tell me how you like this, bitch," he whispered, forming a much more complex and energy intensive matrix. Eredar warlocks were fond of a special type of magical bolt. Unlike a bolt of shadow energy or a fel firebolt, this bolt was formed of pure chaotic energy. It was dangerous to create and dangerous to use, especially anywhere close to you, but it had the added benefit of slamming through just about every magical resistance and most types of magical shields, especially the ones that blocked specific schools of magic. It was a terrifying spell. It was also, unfortunately, one that Nex had never succeeded in casting.

There were four hundred yards separating them still, and she would be within bowshot soon if she wasn't already. But even knowing the danger of her deadly arrows he turned all his focus on the spell he was creating. He couldn't afford not to.

It grew in his hands, a sickly green and yellow ball that constantly fought to escape the matrix which bound it. That matrix was designed to collapse as soon as it struck the target. For most spells the collapse of the matrix would cause the energy to dissipate, usually harmlessly. But for chaotic magic such as this a collapsed matrix allowed it to spread wildly, feeding off itself exponentially for a devastating split second before the energy annihilated itself. In that split second everything it came in contact with, usually in a three foot range, tended to be annihilated as well.

A sharp whine accompanied by a flash of pain across his cheek and spreading cold told him she'd come within extreme range of her bow, and the next shot would likely hit. He finished the spell and loosed it, sending the chaos bolt soaring with deceptively low speed towards the cloaked form in the distance. She stood motionlessly in front of it, making no effort to dodge. He sincerely hoped she'd be stupid enough to try to phase shift in order to gain the speed to dodge in banshee form. She'd have a nasty surprise waiting for her if she did: like her own method of possession, when the slow moving chaos bolt neared its target it suddenly moved blindingly fast to strike. He doubted even her banshee form would be fast enough to dodge it, and if she did he could detonate it any case. Even a brush against that energy on that plane would be enough to annihilate her.

At least he hoped.

But she didn't dodge, and she didn't phase shift. She simply stood calmly, letting the bolt detonate against her as the previous incineration spell had.

In the far distance, carried on a breeze, he could hear her laughter. There was no mocking edge to it, nor even any sign of genuine amusement. If it was possible for a laugh to have no emotion whatsoever behind it, she had managed it.

. . . . .

He and his brothers cut through the undead like a scythe through wheat, perhaps not destroying many but utterly throwing back their push against the elves' western flank.

Puros wasn't surprised by this: he had led cavalry charges against the undead before. While they had unnatural strength in those skeletal frames, and were tireless and fairly swift, they were at the same time light and brittle, being mere animate bone with rotting flesh sloughing off them. The weight and momentum of mounted men at full charge scattered them, and their warhorses, well-trained by Garithos's stablemasters, were weapons in their own right, kicking and lashing out with the forehead spikes on their armor. The feeble blows the undead tried to respond with, sometimes with rusting weapons but far more usually with clawed fingertips, could find no weakness in the chargers' barding.

Still, even light foes must eventually weigh down the momentum of a charge, and when Puros felt it happening he wheeled to break away from the swirling mass of undead. His brothers, every bit as experienced and disciplined, wheeled in tandem with him and together they stormed out of the mass. The blood elves were uncharacteristically silent as his group passed them by, putting some distance between themselves and the line of foes so they could built up momentum for a second charge. Puros ignored their animosity: they shared an enemy, and that was enough.

He led another charge into the seething host of Scourge that sought to press the disembarking blood elves back into the water. Then he led another, and another. On the surface his little handful of paladins seemed to do little, slaying few of the undead as they smashed through. Yet each charge scattered the Scourge and lightened the weight of numbers pressing against the elves for a moment. And the blood elves, no fools, pushed into each small gap left by his charge, smashing the scattered undead and resolutely pushing up the bank, giving more room for reinforcements to land.

On the left flank of the blood elf landing site, barely visible through the chaos, Puros could see a knot of the strange brawny snake-men performing a similar task to the one his own men were engaged in, although he'd be the first to admit the massive creatures were probably doing it better. But if on the left and right the blood elves inched forward, in the center they slammed through the undead, pressing like a juggernaut towards the crude fortifications at the top of the bank that was the heart of the undead defenses. There Prince Kael'thas and his mages were doing a far better job of clearing the way. His best troops were surrounding him, forming the knuckles of a fist that first punched into the undead lines, then spread out resolutely, creating an umbrella in which the rest of the blood elves could form ranks.

Somehow, by some miracle, the landing was nearly complete. What he had expected to be equal parts rout and bloodbath for the blood elves was in fact becoming that and more for the Scourge. And the potent magics wielded by the blood elves were now being turned on the undead bulwarks. Those crude structures of stone and wood and the bones of the dead which had looked so daunting from a distance were proving small protection against the storm of fire and ice and arcane energy that assailed them. The commander of the undead, perhaps dazed by the ferocity of this unexpected attack, was withdrawing the troops all around Kael'thas and his center fist. Instead, the undead were swirling around to assail the flanks even more heavily.

Puros had paused for a moment to let his horse rest, but at seeing this turn of events he whirled the weary courser around and led the charge once more into the press. He'd thought he was aiding the blood elves in a suicidal last stand, but now it appeared the Blood Prince might actually pull this attack off.

If possible, Puros meant to do everything he could to see that Kael'thas did just that.

. . . . .

He might have failed. He'd never successfully used a chaos bolt before, and as solid and well-crafted as the spell matrix had felt he might have made some mistake, or failed to maintain it properly after he launched it.

He might have, but he doubted it. Abandoning her attempts to loose arrows at him from a distance, Imelda had resumed running towards him. She was now less than a hundred yards away, close enough that he could see the massive hole in her cloak and the clothes underneath that exposed the dead flesh of her torso to his gaze from throat to belt. The chaos bolt had completely burned away the cloth, but the flesh itself appeared pristine.

He heard her haunting voice cover the distance between them. "Have you learned yet, human? Two spells you sent at me, the second far more potent than the first, and perhaps the prize weapon in your arsenal. Yet even it cannot not touch me, and you will find that no power short of a demon lord's could. This flesh I wear is immune to any magic you could think to test it with."

"Is that so?" Nex asked softly. He drew out a double-pointed dagger, one of the few that he had enchanted with accuracy. Then, leaping smoothly off the branch and using the momentum to fuel his throw, he uncoiled and flung it with all his strength at her.

He saw her sidestep, still looking amused. Then her eyes widened as the enchanted dagger shifted its path to track her movements, still heading straight for her heart. It was too late to dodge again, and with a shriek she...phased an eyeblink before the dagger hit her. The weapon passed harmlessly through her and disappeared into the dirt.

"Oh come on!" Nex snarled, pushing to his feet on the ground. The bitch was immune to magic, immune to physical attacks, dangerous from a distance and perilous to melee. His shock and wariness had been replaced by real, genuine anger, and without pausing he rushed forward, drawing two more weapons and hurling them one after the other. Imelda laughed and didn't even try to dodge, instead phasing to let the weapons pass through her. As soon as she did Nex rained fire down on her, trying to hit her in banshee form. But although the attacks hit her nearly simultaneously she somehow had enough time to be in proper form for both.

"Damnit," he snarled, veering to circle her rather than continuing to run directly for her. He flung one of his torpedoes with all his strength, at the same time casting a spell to drain her vitality away. A ribbon of green energy spread from his hands to her chest, and he maintained it even as the weapon approached. Rather than phasing this time, however, she merely dodged the heavy weapon.

He snarled again, drew two of his heavy bladed knives, one enchanted to harm undead and one enchanted for piercing, and threw them one after the other in a way she'd have a difficult time dodging, at the same time releasing the fury of the shadows at her feet.

She leapt away, laughing, and both attacks missed. "Damnit!" Nex snarled. He was an incautious moment away from actually charging in and trying to attack her directly again, banshee form and possession be damned. Instead he slowed his rush, fought to calm his emotions, and then coolly began drawing his double-pointed daggers and throwing them, interspersing them with spells in a lightning barrage of attacks that not even the swiftest phasing should have protected her from.

But apparently it did. Imelda phased through some of the attacks, threading the needle between physical and magical, and dodged others, but by the end of a dozen spells that would have massacred a small army of undead, and using up every single one of his knives, she was still unscathed.

Nex halted his attack, forced to accept the logical conclusion that she simply had no weaknesses he could exploit. At least not the way he was doing things now. He'd forced her to shift between physical and banshee form several times now, and she didn't show any signs of tiring. He, on the other hand, was feeling quite weary. He had launched more than a few potent spells at her, and he hadn't been at his full strength even when their battle had begun.

"Will you ever tire of this?" Imelda teased, fitting another arrow to her bowstring with mocking slowness. She had been content to fight 100% defensively while he tested her defenses, but now it seemed she was ready to stop toying with him. "I'm proof against your magical attacks in this form, and against your wicked little undead slaying knives in the other. Do you think you can hit me with either attack before I shift phases?"

She calmly loosed the arrow at him, and Nex just as calmly sidestepped it. It sailed by trailing a banner of icy mist, and Nex's attention focused on it. A weapon infused with cold. Unlike his enchantments, which mostly gave passive benefits, she had actually ensorcelled her arrow with an active spell.

"No," he said, answering her question, "but thanks for giving me an idea." Nex focused fire into the dagger in his hand until it was white-hot, nearly to the point of melting. Another arrow zoomed towards him, and he warded it with a gesture, sending it bouncing away from his shield. She could go on forever against his attacks, but every time he was forced to magically ward her arrows he used more of his reserves than he would have liked.

Hopefully hitting her with physical and magical attacks simultaneously in the form of a spelled dagger would prove more successful than trying to correctly time thrown weapons and separate spells, leaving minute openings she could exploit. When the knife was ready he hurled it, casting a mana draining spell simultaneously around it and using the spell's link from his hand to her chest to keep the dagger inside the conduit, so she wouldn't be able to dodge.

It was a mean trick, and one she obviously wasn't expecting. She flickered rapidly between her two phases, and when the dagger struck her she staggered, then straightened, face strained with pain and wariness. "Well," she said, rubbing at a charred gash on her exposed chest that didn't seem to be slowing her down, and certainly wasn't bleeding. "Neither one to full effect, but I got hit by the spell, and in phased form it hurt. I see I'm going to have to retaliate."

"Better do it quick," Nex said, drawing to more daggers and infusing them with fire. He had the trick, now, and he was through looking the fool.

She laughed, again seeming amused. "So suddenly arrogant, human? You should not be. I am Imelda Woodspark. In life I was a lieutenant of Lady Windrunner herself, and in death I serve her still. The Dark Lady fears nothing, not that traitor Arthas, not any of his minions. She has prepared a surprise for the Scourge Prince, one that not even his power will withstand." She looked at him appraisingly, rubbing at her wounded chest. "Perhaps she will forgive me if I show it to you, though you're barely worthy-"

She dodged with a shriek as one of the daggers missed her by a hairsbreadth. The other dagger sliced through her arm, setting the cloth of her cloak and shirt on fire, and with an annoyed hiss she dove into a roll to dodge Nex's next thrown attack. When she came to her knee an arrow appeared as if from nowhere, fitted to bowstring and ready to loose. Nex leapt aside as it screamed past, then cursed and threw up a ward as another arrow, loosed far faster than before, came for him. The arrow hit his ward, the chill spreading through him and slowing his movements, and he desperately dodged as more arrows came, a flurried barrage she couldn't keep on for long before emptying her quivers. He was slowed by the hit to his ward, but somehow he managed to continue dodging.

Then she loosed three arrows at once and stood at her ease, apparently finished. Nex tried to dodge all three and realized he couldn't. Two struck his shield, slowing him and depleting the magical barrier, and he was about to counterattack when he saw a flicker in the air. It wasn't one of the cold-glowing arrows, and so he'd missed it at first. In desperation he threw out his hand, swatting it out of the air, and a line of fiery pain spread across his palm as the deflected arrow struck the ground not far from him.

Imelda laughed and began walking towards him in a leisurely fashion, with the air of someone who'd won the battle.

Nex looked down at the arrow he'd failed to see. It was painted completely black, and should have stood out in the wan daylight. But he'd been so focused on tracking her arrows by the blue fire they were ensorcelled with that he'd completely failed to notice it. A foolish, arrogant mistake, and he was lucky it hadn't cost him his...

Hadn't...lucky...foolish...

It felt as if a thousand bees had entered his mind and body, and his magic deserted him. With it went the strength that magic lent his limbs, and he fell over, helpless to stop it. His hand. Whatever that black arrow was that had gashed his palm, it had been coated with some poison that bottled up his magical ability, paralyzing him.

He could hear the light tread of her unshod feet approaching. "It seems you've felt the sting of my Lady's Black Arrow. It is a treacherous thing. It isn't made to kill but to subdue, even the most powerful of enemies. The Dark Lady means to someday use it to trap Arthas, helpless, and torment him as he tormented her." She made an odd hissing, spitting noise. "For you I will be more merciful, and immediately possess you. Your power combined with my own will make me formidable indeed, a fitting servant of my Mistress.

Damn fool. This banshee had outplayed him at every turn, and the moment he'd turned the tables the slightest bit in his favor he'd become so confident he'd completely stopped thinking. Hiding a camouflaged arrow in with a hail of visible ones was a common tactic against agile opponents, and in this case the arrow hadn't even _been_ hidden, simply different. He was a fool, a blind, stupid, helpless, paralyzed fool.

Or was he? She had said the poison was meant to render Arthas helpless. A powerful creature, Arthas, but also an undead one. If the arrow was meant to target undead then the only effect it should be having on him was in the way he was similar to undead. Namely, sustaining his body through magic.

Nex tested his limbs, and was relieved to find he could still move them. Not well, and he was weak as a kitten, but he could move them. With massive force of effort he pushed himself onto his knees, and he heard a surprised hiss from the banshee. "You make a mistake," he said with a grim smile, struggling to his feet. "Your Black Arrow is meant for undead targets, whose limbs are animate through magic. I live still." His smile vanished as his strength gave out and he fell to his knees. Struggling with all his strength to stay upright, he failed and slowly fell onto his side, staring at the banshee.

Imelda laughed, a piercing shriek which made his bones shudder. "You live, and yet you animate your sinews with magic like any undead. Is it such a mistake, human? How long has it been since you relied on sinew alone to walk the earth?" Nex said nothing, gritting his teeth. "I must be wrong, human. Prove me wrong." Her smile vanished. "Prove it, human! Prove that my mistress's secret weapon, that will make Arthas himself cower before her, is laughable! Stand, and let us resume our battle!"

Nex struggled to rise, gritting his teeth with rage and pain. His magic wasn't exactly walled off, but he could no more make use of it than he could grasp at a coin a the bottom of a jar filled with stinging bees. The harder he reached for it the more agonizing it became.

"I see. It appears our contest is over, human." Imelda was less than ten feet away, and she closed the distance at a slow, deliberate walk. "You provided a worthy challenge, so I shall be merciful and ended it quickly, as I promised." Five feet away from him she lurched forward, and he thought she was preparing to phase to banshee form and take him. Then she continued to fall forward, onto her hands and knees, and he saw three burning arrows protruding, two from her back and one from her neck.

She stared at him, eyes wide and round with shock, and opened her mouth to say something. But instead of words only a choking sound emerged.

Livid flames spread across the banshee's cold dead flesh from the fiery arrows, but it wasn't the flames that were killing her but the physical arrows themselves. The banshee gave a shriek and tried to phase. Phasing made the flames roar all the more fiercely, but her spectral form still had coherence as she rushed toward him, desperate to possess his body before death took her. Nex struggled to roll away, all he could manage in his current state, as her speed became almost too swift for him to follow, streaking for him.

Just before she reached him the flames began to wither, blue fire taking their place. At least he thought it was blue fire, until he realized it was her essence dispersing into the Nether as death took her. Less than an inch away from his face her outstretched hand dissolved, and he felt a soul-leeching chill on his cheek as a wisp of her essence brushed his skin. Then she was gone, her dying shriek hanging in the air for an unnaturally long instant.

For a moment he lay, panting, unable to fathom this turn of events. He had brushed death on many occasions, but he didn't think any brush had ever been this near.

Damnit. He couldn't die for the life of him.

After a few moments of gathering his wits he forced himself to his knees with his last remaining strength and looked around. He could see no sign of anyone. The undead Imelda had led roamed aimlessly to the south, freed from her control but not from the Lich King's. Whoever his rescuer was, they had chosen to remain in hiding.

He took a deep breath, then spoke at as loudly as he could manage in his state. "Ah, Lady Shadowsong. I was just about to come looking for you."

There was no response for an eternal moment, and then three cloaked figures holding massive longbows melted out of the cover of a ditch some hundred yards away. "Somehow I doubt that," the figure at the head of the group called.

Nex struggled to put a smile on his face. "Let's pretend it's true in any case, my Lady. Because I guarantee you need my help, and I'm only too delighted to offer it."

She prowled forward, her movements sleek and graceful and not quite natural, her two bodyguards flanking her a pace behind. "It seems more as if _you _need _my _help, and not just because that spirit creature was on the verge of taking your life. I know whom it is you serve, human, and I desire your death only slightly less than I desire the death of your master."

"No doubt." Nex couldn't keep himself upright anymore, and with an annoyed sigh slumped over sideways, his face smashing into the ground. He turned his head, spitting out a mouthful of dirt, and continued. "But you do desire my master slightly more than me, and so you need me. Because without me, rest assured you will never reach Illidan Stormrage."

"Oh?" Her tone was equal parts disbelief and amusement. "It seems to me you can't even stand. Why would I need your help?"

Even completely helpless on the ground, Nex smiled. "Because Stormrage is no longer on Azeroth."


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-Three

Finishing the Hunt

The undead pressed around him with such overwhelming numbers that their weight finally slowed his courser's momentum. It was one of the few ways to truly stop an armored knight on an armored horse, short of getting him to ride into a spear with the end buried in the ground, or using magical means. Puros counted himself lucky that he'd been able to fight for nearly an hour before it had happened. But all things ended in time.

His horse screamed as a skeleton scuttled, spider-like, beneath its armor and began tearing at its belly. "Sorry, old boy," Puros murmured to the faithful beast. As the horse went down he leapt up into the saddle, lifting his poleaxe over his head, and called upon the Light. Then he kicked into a fierce spin, whipping the polearm around in a 720-degree storm of divine Light and sending the score or so of clumped undead clawing towards him over his faltering horse flying in all directions, most of them broken.

He landed lightly, slammed the head of the poleaxe into a charging ghoul, cutting it near in half at the waist, and then leapt over it and ran for the bulwarks a short ways to the south.

"My lord!" a voice shouted behind him, and he whirled just in time to catch at Cuttyn's proffered hand as the man rode past at a gallop. Drawing upon the Light for strength, the brawny paladin lifted Puros into the saddle behind him. Puros gripped his brother's surcoat for balance and began laying into the undead around them with his polearm as they swept past.

The blood elves fighting around the bulwark moved aside to let them pass, pointedly not paying attention to the passing humans. All the same the embattled area within the bulwarks had become the new staging area for the elven army, it seemed. Wounded were being dragged in and tended by harried elven priests and surgeons, while others were clearing away the undead corpses to be burned by a mage, who didn't look happy to have drawn cleanup while his fellows continued the attack.

Puros tapped Cuttyn's shoulder, and the man reined in, his mount heavily winded after carrying the weight of two fully armored men across a battlefield. "We'll rest for fifteen minutes!" he called to his men, and then wearily dismounted.

Cuttyn dismounted after him, running his hand over his blown horse's nose. "Shame about your courser, my Lord," he said. "You'd best ride mine, now."

Puros waved him aside. "We will see," he said, sinking to his knees wearily. By the Light, he was tired. He'd never considered himself old before, but the boundless energy of his youth seemed to have deserted him.

It had been a fierce battle to take the undead fortifications. He could scarcely remember the frantic rush as the undead pressed the flanks ever harder, recognizing that the main strength of the blood elves was in the center and seeking to overwhelm the wings and surround Kael'thas. It had been fierce fighting for what seemed ages, cutting through endless waves of undead, relying on the Light to give strength and speed to their mounts lest they falter and be overrun. And the battle had only grown messier when the slain blood elves they'd left behind them began to rise and attack their rear.

Somehow, though, Kael'thas and his Spell Breakers had managed to storm the main fortifications. Kael'thas himself had located the necromancer leading the Scourge defenses and had defeated him in a duel as his men swept the undead from the walls. With the death of their leader the undead army had become chaotic and uncontrolled, making them more predictable and easier to deal with. At that point it was just a matter of striking the leaderless undead down. No easy feat, certainly, but more manageable.

Puros felt his relief fading, though. He'd cut deep into the undead ranks on a few of his charges, going far north and east. He had seen the outskirts of the main Scourge encampment the blood elves had to deal with. As great a victory as storming the perimeter defenses had been, their work was only begun.

"Human."

He looked up swiftly, surprised. This was the first time since they had lent their aid that a blood elf had deigned to talk to him. It was one of the Spell Breakers, bulky and impressive in full plate, with his full tower shield protecting him from head to toe and a wicked warglaive nearly as tall as the elf himself crackling with arcane energy in his right hand. He stood tall to face the warrior. "At your service."

The elf's lip curled. "Really? Well, my Prince seems to feel you are. He wishes to speak to you."

Puros nodded. "Lead on."

The Spell Breaker turned without a word, and Puros motioned his men to remain where they were as he moved to follow. He found Kael'thas standing beside a crude bier where a sickly corpse in putrid robes lay spread. The Blood Prince was reading from a tome, likely looted from the necromancer's corpse, whose pages appeared to be made from human flesh. The binding, certainly, was human scalps with hair grown long, giving the book a savage, shaggy appearance. Puros took one look at it then shuddered and looked away. "I've brought the human, my Prince," the Spell Breaker said.

Kael'thas looked up, his patrician features showing boredom and impatience. "So you have. Well met, paladin. I will be honest...I had not expected even a token show of support from Garithos," the leader of the blood elves curled his lip. "But you've proven useful all the same. Do not think me ungrateful."

"I care little for politics," Puros responded calmly. "I was not sent by Garithos, though I had the opportunity to see his unsightly hatred of all things not human with my own eyes. But whatever the quarrel between you and the Lord General, I am here to fight the undead."

The piercing blue eyes of the high elf measured him carefully. There was no warmth in them, but some of the animosity was gone. "Then fight you shall," he said coldly. He gestured, and almost by magic a young elf in full plate was at his side. "This is Kataros Sunlight, former paladin of the now-extinct Order of Uther. He leads the Sunplumes, a small remnant of our people who still believe that the Light has not forsaken us."

Kataros's eyes tightened, not with disapproval but with sadness. "The Light has not forsaken us, my Prince," he said gently. "Our people can no longer feel it because they have utterly lost faith in its existence."

The Blood Prince shrugged one shoulder in a singularly careless and arrogant gesture. "No matter. The Sunplumes still wield holy magics, and they've been responsible for keeping our people alive and heartened in these terrible times. The militant wing of the Sunplumes has been tasked with ranging wide around the main body of Scourge in search of any remnants of our people who answered my call to arms and seek to join us. If they feel up to it, they are free to fight any undead they encounter as well." A call from the east turned Kael'thas away, and he called the remainder of his words over his shoulder as he strode away. "You are of course free to do as you wish, paladin, but I think it would be best for everyone if you join Kataros in his rangings."

"I would be delighted to," Puros said, extending his hand. The elf paladin glanced at it with disdain, then looked away, not moving. Puros continued his courtesies in any case. "Though I've not met you before, Lord Sunlight, I've had the pleasure of hearing of your exploits in Quel'thalas. The Light be with you."

"And you," Kataros replied curtly. "Mount up. The Alliance saw fit to confiscate our mounts when they withdrew their support troops, so you'll have to put up with keeping pace with my men afoot. We leave immediately."

Puros nodded and motioned to his men that their rest was over, and his men began preparing to leave as the elf paladin turned and strode away.

. . . . .

Jarvak rode through the forest hard, little sparing his borrowed mount. He was still seething over the misplaced attitude of unhesitating service that oaf, Puros, couldn't seem to shake himself of. The fool had already gotten most of them killed fighting half a dozen battles that weren't their own, and he seemed determined to finish the job without ever completing the task they'd set out to do.

In a way, he was almost worse than that demon-lover Redhills. Redhills had saved the murderer when nothing would have stopped Jarvak from smashing his face in, but Puros was saving the bastard far more consistently, for all his talk of implacable resolve to see the criminal brought to justice.

He had to admit he did feel guilty about Redhills' death. He'd stolen the dagger from the criminal's pack intending to drive it into the murderer's heart while he slept, then claim to the others that the bastard had killed himself to escape his fate. But when the darkness had fallen and he'd realized their captive was gone, flat out gone, he'd been so filled with rage that he'd turned it on the first target that had presented itself, which conveniently turned out to be the very person who'd saved the murderer's life in the first place.

Guilt or no, however, he felt justified in his action every time he was forced to watch their unworthy leader make another stupid decision that gave the criminal that much better a chance of slipping away. But not this time. They had information on the whereabouts of the murdering whoreson, and he meant to see it placed in hands that would actually make good use of it.

He reined his mount in at a call from above, and looked up to see a slight figure cloaked in green crouched atop a branch that looked too thin even for her slight weight. "Has the camp moved?" he demanded. The sentry jabbered something at him in the night elves' nonsensical language, and he hissed in annoyance. "I'll take that as a no," he said mockingly, then kicked his courser into a trot once more.

A short time later he was passing through the outskirts of the large night elf camp. For a renegade that man-handed bitch Maiev had managed to amass a sizable army. He only wished Puros could summon an ounce of her resolve in his own hunt. He dismounted in the wide clearing that made up the center of the camp and tied off the reins on a convenient branch. "Is there anyone here who speaks Common?" he called. "Fetch Fadingstar or Shadowsong, I have news about our quar...ry..." he trailed off, staring in disbelief.

Seated upon a comfortable bed of grass with his back to a tree trunk, his cloak serving as a pillow behind his head, the criminal himself, Nex-fucking-thanarak, sat calmly enchanting one of his weapons to a dull red glow. He looked up as Jarvak stopped talking, and his mouth quirked up in a half smile. "You're finally back," he said. "It kind of ruins the point of a hunt when the quarry comes in, doesn't it?"

Jarvak gaped for a moment more, and then he was yanking his warhammer from its ties on his back. "You son of a bitch!" he snarled, bounding across the clearing towards the murderer with his weapon held high.

The murderer made no move to defend himself other than to raise a cautionary finger, which Jarvak ignored. He couldn't ignore it a moment later, however, when a grip as solid as iron caught the wrist of the hand holding his hammer. "Uht uht uht," the criminal said with a bright smile, gesturing in a broad circle towards the edges of the clearing. Jarvak skidded to a halt, though not of his own volition, as Fadingstar yanked him around and held out a warning hand to urge him to be still. Even angry as he was, he wasn't stupid enough to attack her in her own camp, and his caution proved justified when he turned to see more than two dozen arrows drawn trained towards him.

Nex dropped his hand to his side, perfectly at ease. He hadn't even gotten up off the ground. "We're in the middle of a ring of archers, and I hope you don't think those arrows are pointed at me." He hesitated, then shrugged. "Well, not all of them at least."

Jarvak whirled to face Fadingstar. "What is this?" he demanded.

The night elf waited for Emaille, who had hurried forward as the confrontation played out, to translate. Then she replied calmly, and Emaille repeated her message. "The demon hunter is under the Lady's protection. At least for as long as he remains useful."

The human clenched his fist around his weapon, grinding his teeth helplessly as he glared at the bows. "You cannot do this. You swore to Lord Puros that you would aid him in capturing and disposing of this murderer." The ring of faces regarded him impassively. "You cannot protect him! He murdered one of my companions to escape us one week ago. You had sworn to prevent his escape, and yet you did nothing! To deny us his death after your failure is dishonorable!"

"Wait a moment," the criminal interrupted. "Exactly who was it I was supposed to have murdered?" The bastard was _still_ sitting at his ease on the ground!

Jarvak whirled on him with a snarl. "Moran Redhills, you cowardly snake. He intervened to save your life and you planted one of your knives in his throat."

"Odd," the murderer replied. "My knives were all buried at the bottom of my pack. It took me several moments to get them out after I escaped. I couldn't help but notice one was missing, however."

Jarvak snorted with derision. "I shouldn't be surprised you'd have a handy lie. I have no desire to bandy words with you, anyway." He turned to Emaille. "Why aren't you translating my words for Fadingstar?"

The young archer had a strange look on her face. "Do you really wish me to tell my mistress that?" she asked.

"By the Light, woman, why else would I say it!"

Emaille's eyes narrowed, and she repeated Jarvak's words. Fadingstar stared at him for a moment, then smiled in a very deliberate and knowing way and said something pointedly in her language.

His quarry began laughing, and Jarvak turned to glare at him, recalling that the slippery bastard jabbered in that tongue as well as any night elf. Then Emaille repeated Fadingstar's words. "My mistress says, are you sure _he_ killed the paladin Moran Redhills?"

Jarvak's belligerence vanished and his face paled. She knew. He'd done it while Nex's darkness had persisted, and had so perfectly made it look the escaping murderer's work that none of his brothers had showed the slightest suspicion. Yet somehow the bitch knew. "Wha-" he began, his voice croaking from a suddenly dry throat. He coughed harshly and continued. "What the hell are you talking about, woman?"

Fadingstar seemed to find his response amusing. "Don't worry, paladin, we have no intention of telling your master. Your treachery against one of your own is none of our concern. As long as you serve us well we don't care what you do to anyone else."

Jarvak shouldn't have felt relieved by that, but somehow he did. Yes, the night elves were so focused on their own hunt that they really didn't care about his deed.

Then the murderer spoke. He was _still_ just sitting there. "I intend to tell Puros, however."

His fear returned, though it shouldn't have. The criminal they'd been sent to pursue, trying to match his word against one of Puros's sworn brothers? And yet Puros listened to the man. Oh, he called him a liar with every word out of the criminal's mouth, but then he acted as if he believed every single lie. He laughed, trying to force derision into it. "As if he'd believe any word out of your mouth, murderer."

Nex smiled. "Oh, I have no doubt he won't believe me. But it'll be fun to tell him anyway. Telling the truth is always amusing when you know it won't make a difference." Then, as calm as ever, the bastard went back to enchanting his weapon as if their confrontation had never taken place.

. . . . .

"There they are, sure enough," Kataros said as the scout pointed into the distance. "I had wondered where they disappeared to."

Puros squinted after the scout's pointing finger. His eyes were not as keen as an elf's, but he could see the mass of undead milling around at the edge of sight, no apparent purpose behind their movements. "The eastern defenders, away from their fortifications and apparently leaderless."

Kataros nodded, though he seemed annoyed at having to speak to him directly. "Those fortifications are too vital to the Scourge to be left unguarded and without a leader. If these undead are the guards, the leader _must_ have been killed." He turned to a young elf at his side, some sort of page or valet to the more experienced paladin. "Return to the main camp and inform Prince Kael'thas of a possible weakness in the Scourge defenses that he can doubtless exploit. Seltheril, Malagan, escort him." The three elves saluted and turned immediately, trotting back the way they'd come.

"What are we going to do?" Puros asked. "If we act quickly we can probably exploit this weakness ourselves, or at least act to ensure that it remains so."

"My task is to see to elvish refugees, not assault ten thousand Scourge with a few dozen of the faithful," Kataros replied. "But if you wish to pit your handful agai-"

A shout from behind whirled them both around, to see another scout hurrying towards them from the southeast. "My Lord!" the young female shouted. "I've found a group of refugees!"

"Where?" Kataros demanded, signaling his men to follow as he rushed towards the scout.

"Just over the hill," the woman panted as she halted before him with a rigid salute. "They were making for Lordamere Lake, planning to skirt its eastern shore and find us. When Prince Kael'thas issued the call our last known location was Dalaran, and they were moving to join us there."

"Did you redirect them?"

"Yes, my Lord. They're headed our way."

Kataros nodded. "Let's go."

. . . . .

"How is it a group this large came so close to the main Scourge force without coming under attack?"

The refugees had collapsed for a much-needed rest, almost before Kataros and his paladins came within sight. The paladins and priests of the Sunplumes were spreading out among them, tending wounds and giving blessings of strength and endurance. Puros had set his paladins to the same task. Now he and Kataros were speaking with the leaders of the evacuated village of Corona's Blaze: the village Elder, Theril Firedge, and his daughter Saire Firedge, a mage of the Kirin Tor.

It was the daughter who answered, Eldre'Theril apparently too weary, and content to have her speak for him. "We've been pursued and sporadically attacked for nearly a week now, since passing through the Crimson Pass. Not an hour ago we were trapped between nearly a thousand Scourge in pursuit and the defenders not far north and west of us."

"How did you manage to disengage so cleanly?" Kataros demanded.

Saire glanced at Puros briefly, then away, looking almost guilty. She was a startlingly attractive woman, her hair a bronze color and her eyes a piercing hazel. Even the filthiness and fatigue of weeks of hard travel couldn't disguise her delicate beauty. If anything, they only served to make it stand out all the more, like a noblewoman trifling as a peasant. "We had help," she admitted reluctantly. "A human spellfighter of some sort, though he wielded dark magics."

To say Kataros looked stunned would be a severe understatement. "A single human served rearguard to your escape?"

She nodded wearily, looking guilty once more. "He held the undead at bay while we withdrew, and last I saw was battling the Scourge leader."

"He must have succeeded in slaying it, because your pursuers are milling mindlessly not four miles from here." Kataros still looked as if he couldn't believe it, and was merely humoring the pretty young mage. "Whoever this human is, he's a hero in his own right."

"No," Puros said coldly. "Not a hero but a villain." He turned to Saire. "Was he a pale human, dark of hair and eye but with flame highlighting both, gaunt to the point of being skeletal, perhaps with some sort of ensorcelled demon skin?"

The woman glanced at him with marked unfriendliness. "I've no love for humans. Not you and not even him, though he fought on our behalf. But at the very least, for the aid he gave us I'll say nothing to his enemies."

"Say nothing, then," Puros said calmly, "you've told me all I need to know." He turned to his paladins, still at work aiding the refugees. "Mount up and prepare to ride hard!" He served his words by swinging into his own saddle, clutching his poleaxe with grim determination. They had to get to Maiev quickly to relay this newest information about Nex's whereabouts.

They were one step closer to finding the criminal, and he didn't mean to waste a single moment.

. . . . .

The enchantment which coated Imelda's Black Arrow was finally fading from his system, although it had taken its sweet time. He could tap enough of his reserves to move his limbs awkwardly at the present, and even do a few rudimentary enchantments. But it would likely be several more hours before he was back to himself.

A vicious curse. He wondered how it would affect an undead body rather than a living one. Undead blood didn't flow, they didn't breathe, they didn't sweat or eliminate waste, and so had no processes by which to cleanse such things. Perhaps it would persist indefinitely, rendering the undead alive but helpless. If so, he didn't envy Menethil his future when this banshee Sylvanas Windrunner finally made her move.

He heard a scraping sound, and looked over to see Jarvak sharpening his belt knife with slow, deliberate strokes, staring at him expressionlessly the entire time. The paladin couldn't have been more obvious in his threat if he stood up and shook the weapon at him screaming "I'll kill you!" over and over again.

He smiled back, continuing to enchant his weapons. So Redhills was dead, and Jarvak had murdered him and blamed it on Nex. He shouldn't have been surprised, but he was. Paladins couched all sorts of villainy in the guise of honor, but murdering a brother in cold blood was a new one. He wondered how the man justified it. In any case he wasn't overly concerned. If it ever did come to a confrontation between them he'd kill the oaf easily, and Redhills would have his justice. Until then, he was just as happy the man was openly watching him as opposed to sneaking around trying to put that dagger in his back. He'd have to keep an eye on him in any case.

A thunder of hooves and the jingle of harness turned his gaze to the eastern end of the camp, where Puros was dismounting hastily. "Where's Shadowsong?" he demanded, "or Fadingstar? I have a trail on our quarry that's less than two hours old, and-" his eyes fell on Nex, and just as Jarvak had not a half hour earlier, he stopped dead and simply gaped.

Nex burst out laughing. Both men burst into camp in exactly the same way, for exactly the same reason, and then stop dead in shock at seeing him already there. One had to embrace life's little pleasures.

"You!" Puros snarled. "So they caught you without my help."

"They did," Nex replied calmly. "I came in willingly."

"Then you're a fool. Once Lady Shadowsong is done with you you're mine!" Puros whirled to one of the archers guarding the clearing, failing to realize that she was watching him as closely as Nex. "I want to speak to Lady Shadowsong, now!"

The young female regarded him coolly. "Then perhaps you should seek her out and request to speak to her." The paladin simply glared at her, and after a moment she darted a glance at her sisters, then squared her shoulders. "I will see if she is available," she said stiffly, then turned and strode away.

Puros glared around the clearing, seeming to see immediately the archers ready to shoot him if he went after Nex. But unlike Jarvak, he didn't seem about to do anything hasty. He turned to the other paladins. "Care for your mounts. They've had a hard ride, and we might be moving again soon." He suited his words by leading his horse over to a tiny brook which flowed through one end of the clearing. Before he let the horse drink he knelt and blessed the water, a sensible precaution in this plague-infested land. However, for all his seeming calm as soon as Shadowsong came into sight, with Fadingstar and a few others of her most highly placed servants flanking her, he immediately moved to intercept her.

"Congratulations on capturing the villain, my Lady. I was coming to camp with information on his whereabouts, but I see it's not necessary."

"Apparently not," Shadowsong replied. "But now that you're here perhaps we can finally begin."

"Agreed." Puros pointed back at where Nex sat. "Ask him your questions about Illidan's location and be done with it so I can complete my task and return home."

The Warden tsked in annoyance. "It was never so simple as simply questioning him, paladin. You should know that. And it has become infinitely more complex with the news Illidan's servant brought me."

"What news?" Puros demanded. "What do you mean more complicated?"

"Illidan," Maiev said calmly, "is no longer on Azeroth."

. . . . .

To say he got satisfaction out of the look of surprise on the paladin's face was a understatement. "Where is he then?" Puros demanded. "How long is it going to take to find him so the criminal can finally be delivered into my hands, as promised?"

Instead of answering Maiev looked his way, and Nex took it upon himself to answer. "He's an unimaginable distance away. Though I cannot be sure, I would have to assume he's on Draenor."

"Draenor?" Puros repeated, lip curling in distaste at even the name. "Why there?"

"Because finding other worlds is a near impossible task, let alone opening a portal to one. If it were a simple or easy thing to do don't you suppose the Burning Legion, which hates Azeroth with unthinking passion and has limitless forces at its disposal, would have done it already?" Puros simply stared at him blankly. "A rift in the Great Dark Beyond already connects Azeroth and Draenor. Even without the Dark Portal it makes travel to Draenor possible. Even powerful as he is, Stormrage could not have simply found another world as well as the means of traveling to it."

"All right," Puros said slowly. "All right, then. Draenor. Fine. So how are we supposed to get there?"

Nex hesitated, then shrugged. "I'm not entirely certain. In order to use the existing link we'd have to travel to the ruins of the Dark Portal. Aside from the fact that it's smack dab in the middle of some of the most wild, treacherous lands in the Eastern Kingdoms, it would also take months unless we found some means of getting there faster."

"We'll not be traveling anywhere," Maiev said calmly. "We have the means to travel to Draenor right here."

"How?" Puros demanded. "It would take far more power than any of us or even all of us possess to create a link to Draenor. Medivh himself couldn't do it without the aid of Gul'dan on the other end."

Maiev smiled viciously at Nex, and he suddenly felt very, very uneasy. "We have a link to Draenor," she purred.

"Fuck," Nex said quietly under his breath. He didn't know how she'd sensed it, within him and masked by his own magics, but somehow she had.

Puros looked between the two of them, expression torn between confusion and suspicion. "What do you mean?"

"All of the Illidari, Illidan's chief servants, possess a link to their master. It is how he finds them to communicate with them, as well as how he controls them when they balk. Our dubious ally, the traitor to not only his own kind but his master as well, is no exception. He reeks of Illidan's tainted magic, and must possess an Illidari stone as well."

Nex shrugged and smiled sheepishly. "I do."

"Bring it forth then."

"Very well. But I refuse to relinquish it to you. To do so would kill me."

She waved a hand impatiently. "We'll need your power and expertise to aid in opening the portal in any case. You can keep your cursed stone. Bring it forth."

Nex glanced at the knot of paladins. Oh well, he was surprised he'd kept the stone's existence hidden this long. "Puros, I'll need your services as a healer," he said. Then he lifted the heavy-bladed knife he'd been enchanting, pushed aside his coat and shirt, and after a moment's careful introspection drove it into his own chest.

Gasps rang out around the clearing, not all of them from the humans. Even Shadowsong looked surprised as he cut into his stomach and then reached in and withdrew the stone, coated with stomach acid as more blood and acid oozed down his chest. "Please hurry. Rupturing the digestive system is always a grievous injury."

With a start Puros rushed forward. Nex tensed, ready for the man to strike a killing blow while he sat there, still weak from the effects of the Black Arrow and now injured as well. But the honorable nature of the paladin won out, and after barely a hesitation the man called upon the Light and began healing him. Nex released his demon skin spell and drained as much of his tainted magic from his reserves as he could, hoping it would be enough to keep the Holy magic from damaging him more than it healed him. He dared not release the Illidari stone, but he sealed it off as best he could.

Apparently the corruption of the magic he wielded had gone deeper than he'd expected, for the healing magic pained him far greater than he could ever imagine, and even as it healed his flesh and insides smoked. He'd never had a wound so severe his demon skin and latent magic couldn't heal it, and feeling this agony he almost wished he'd tried to let the demon skin heal this as well.

Finally, however, it was done, leaving a blackened bit of flesh where the dagger cut had been. Nex recast his demon skin immediately to begin healing the holy damage he'd taken, as Puros continued to kneel over him, breathing hard from suppressed rage. "Thank you," he finally said, trying not to sound grudging.

Puros stood. "Don't mention it," he said through gritted teeth, and Nex had the feeling the paladin meant it literally.

"Very good," Shadowsong said, a frightening intensity to her gaze as she stared at the stone. "We have the link, we can make the portal." Then she paused and glared at Nex. "We _can_ make the portal, can we not, human? I'll not waste days, perhaps even weeks, garnering the aid of a mage."

Nex took that to mean could _he_ make the portal. Of course, he shouldn't have been surprised. "It just so happens that I have the knowledge to create such a thing. And fortunate for you that I do, for the crafting of a portal between worlds is no knowledge you could request from any random student of the arcane."

"Stop wasting my time with preening and make the portal," she said.

Nex burst out laughing, but stopped when he realized she was perfectly serious. Of course she was. "You are speaking of creating a portal that spans the Great Dark Beyond from one world to another. Even with a link to the destination I do not possess the power to create such a thing."

"Then use the stone. It is a reservoir of Illidan's tainted power, is it not?"

Nex laughed again, this time not stopping for several seconds. "You do not seem to understand, Shadowsong. The stone is an object of vast power, but even it is a mere trinket compared to what is required."

His laughter had not pleased her, nor had his inability to meet her demands. She very deliberately drew a dagger from her cloak. The tip was black with poison. "Do you think this is a game, worthless creature? You have the knowledge to create such a portal, you must have created one before. How did you do it then?"

Nex smiled viciously. "The way my foul kind does, Warden. My Mistress gathered up dozens of souls to fuel the ritual, and even so creating the portal nearly killed us b-"

"No!" Puros snarled. "I will not be party to the destruction of innocent souls. This is a thing so vile not even vengeance can justify it."

"Are you sure, paladin?" Nex said with a mocking laugh. He pointed to the south and east, to where the battle between blood elf and Scourge must still rage. "There are plenty of souls being freed from their bodies even as we speak. It would be a simple matter to harness them."

Puros hefted his poleaxe, holy energy swirling around him. "Speak another word of this twisted scheme, monster, and this conversation ends in your death or mine."

Nex smiled, doing everything he could to make his taunting known. "You think ill of me, paladin. But I was simply prodding your overinflated virtue. Some things are beneath even me."

"But not beneath me," Shadowsong snapped. "I _want_ that portal!"

Nex turned his gaze from the paladin, appraising the night elf. "Between your power, that of a few of your minions, and the paladin and his companions, we might be able to make a start of it. Better still if you had powerful magical artifacts that could be consumed for the process."

There was an uneasy stir among the night elves. Maiev, too, seemed surprised, and when she saw the reluctant expressions on the faces of her sisters she hissed in irritation. "You heard the demonkind. Fetch them."

A handful of young elves sprinted away to where the group kept their supplies and provisions. When they returned, Nex was shocked to feel great power emanating from the objects they carried. Incredible power.

Maiev watched his reaction with a bitter smile. "Treasures, relics from before the destruction of the Well of Eternity and safeguarded in the Stormrage Barrow Dens for ten thousand years. After the druids were awakened and departed to counter the threat of the Burning Legion, and Whisperwind murdered my sisters to take Illidan from my charge, the remainder of us gathered these up. They have proved of little use, until now. They are powerful, perhaps powerful enough that you may use their power and yours alone, and leave I and my sisters strong for the fight to come. Will they suffice?"

Nex fought to keep his expression neutral, although the sight of those artifacts stirred an uncustomary greed in him. There were legends made about some of the objects of power created using the Well of Eternity's boon. "Perhaps. I will have to inspect them closely. You are fortunate that I am a skilled enchanter." With any luck he could save a few of the smaller objects for his own, if he could manage to hide them about his person.

"Very well. My people will watch over your efforts, and give you any aid you might need. Are there other reagents you require?"

"A few things," Nex said, moving over to the growing pile of artifacts and trying not to look to interested in them.

She nodded. "My people will see to it." She started to turn away, and Puros stepped forward.

"One moment, my Lady. Once the criminal has created this portal you must let me have him. We have an agreement."

The Warden turned back, both hands clutching her oversized circle of razored steel, which he'd heard her people call a chakram, as if she meant to use it. "Our agreement will have to change, Lord Puros," she said calmly. "You yourself must see how vital Illidan's servant is to my plans." There was a hooting sound, and a moment later an owl winged into the clearing, calling out some message on the fly. Maiev grimaced in annoyance and whirled away, her chakram slapping against her armored hip. "Make sure they don't kill each other," she snapped at Fadingstar, and then she was striding away into the trees.

. . . . .

Nex showed no intention of attacking him, more interested in gathering up the magical artifacts he'd been provided and sorting them into piles that seemed to have no basis on size or purpose. Magical potency, perhaps. Puros might have considered attacking the man, but the ring of Watchers holding bows ready to use discouraged him. Dishonorable as it would have been, he almost regretted not slaying the man when he was wounded and helpless. With a scowl he tossed off his helmet and leaned against a tree, signaling his men to stand down. "She may have altered her promise to me, boy, but rest assured when your usefulness is done I will have you."

Nex shrugged. "Perhaps, if it suits her. Or perhaps she will slay you all and let me go free."

Puros spat. "Maybe you would attack your allies thus. I've fought alongside night elves before, and I trust in their honor."

Nex laughed. "Shadowsong left honor behind long before in pursuit of her so-called justice. Perhaps you haven't heard some of the things she's done in her hunt for Stormrage."

"Justice and honor go hand in hand," Puros argued, though he didn't know why he bothered anymore. The boy was beyond redemption.

Nex finally turned to look at him, his dark eyes looking like nothing so much as holes into the emptiness of his soul. "When justice becomes the end rather than the means, reason is put aside in favor of blind retribution. Everything justice was made to defend is sacrificed on the altar of justice. That is the danger of those willing to hunt a criminal to the ends of the earth, sacrificing all for the hunt. Shadowsong is a fugitive, outcast from her own people and held as a criminal. She's betrayed allies to get closer to Illidan, and she will again." He paused, Puros would almost have said he hesitated, then continued. "I would look at her very closely, Lightfinder, before you too sacrifice all on the altar of justice."

Puros stiffened in outrage. "I have never betrayed my honor or wavered from my path!" he snarled.

"Your path has taken you over the bodies of the paladins who followed you!" Nex shot back. "You've lost more men hunting me than I slew. The cost of your hunt has already become greater than the justice it serves."

"Each of my men lost is a further mark against you, and hardens my resolve all the more. For the death of Moran Redhills alone you've earned my implacable pursuit. Aid Shadowsong if you wish, but as you yourself said she will do what she must to further her own ends. And she has far less reason to love you than me."

Nex shrugged and turned back to the pile of artifacts. "But far more reason to keep me around. As for Redhills, if it's justice you want for him you're looking in the wrong place." Still apparently intent on rummaging through the items, Nex reached up and pointed with some sort of carved falcon. Puros raised his eyes to follow the gesture and saw that Nex was pointing at Jarvak, resting on a stump a short distance away.

"What?" he demanded incredulously. "Why would you even try to shed doubt on that murder? Moran held your pack, which you took when you fled, killing him in the process. Do you honestly expect me to believe anyone other than you did the deed?" Nex made no reply, almost seeming as if he hadn't heard, and Puros glared between him and Jarvak. As if the surly paladin felt his gaze he lifted his eyes, and when their gazes met his suddenly jerked away. Jarvak saluted briskly, then pointedly turned away.

Preposterous. Nex was clearly toying with his judgment, as he seemed to delight in doing. Still...Jarvak wept over Moran's body just moments after Nex killed him. And there was a depth of emotion, a range in which weeping and laughter sound very much alike.

Puros looked away from Jarvak, forcing that thought from his mind. If he was willing to suspect one of his brothers over the words of a lying criminal it was not Jarvak who had need to look within his heart, but Puros Lightfinder.

Spitting with disgust in Nex's direction, Puros backed away a few steps and sat on a fallen log, watching the boy like a hawk. Now that he had him in his sight, he didn't mean to look away until the criminal was brought to justice. He wouldn't make the same mistakes again when it came to Nex-thanarak.

. . . . .

It was a waste, disenchanting these artifacts. Many of them were priceless, containing a form or function that couldn't be duplicated without the power of the Well of Eternity. Granted, most of those forms were merely aesthetic, and their functions were innocuous or outright useless, but still...

As he disenchanted the magical items into usable components a few of the smaller, more potent ones mysteriously vanished, a smaller number of components taking their place. The sleight of hand was not difficult to accomplish, and as the pile dwindled a few of his depleted enchanting stores also, oddly enough, saw an increase in materials. As he made a small, wickedly sharp stiletto bristling with arcane energy vanish up his sleeve and a small amount of magical essence slid down his sleeve to take its place in the harmless flash of colors he used instead of actually disenchanting the item, he heard a noise from Puros. It was all he could do not to freeze up, worried the man had seen what he was doing.

He looked up to see the paladin scowling at him, but that was nothing new. "You're "guarding" me, Lightfinder. I sympathize. But what I'm doing is very tricky and requires a lot of concentration. Please try not to bellow like a bull right in my ear." After speaking he held his breath. Either Puros knew and would accuse him, or the noise he'd made was innocuous. This wasn't nearly the first time he'd performed this little game of disenchanting objects of power and withholding some of them, and/or enchanting materials, for himself, and many of his "clients" had watched him closely too. He'd never been caught.

But Puros said nothing more, and Nex breathed a bit easier as he continued.

Unsurprisingly, the pile of ancient night elf relics possessed far more potency than he needed for the portal spell, even after he disappeared some of the items. He had a dozen or so left when he judged he had enough materials to create the portal. It was always easier to allay suspicion if he had leftovers to return, so he straightened and spoke to Fadingstar, who was also watching him like a hawk. "These are unneeded," he told her in her own tongue.

"You have sufficient?" she asked.

"I believe so, yes."

"Disenchant them anyway," a voice from behind them said, and Nex jumped slightly as Shadowsong stalked around into sight. "I'd rather there be too much than not enough. You may keep the remainder as a reward, warlock," she continued.

Nex stiffened. "Don't call me that." She made no reply, simply stared at him, and finally he looked away and continued disenchanting the items. It was already enough, but if she wanted to give him the rest he was happy to take it. He quickly disenchanted the items, save for another that he disappeared, and then added their materials to the component pile. "Done."

"Good." Shadowsong clutched her chakram with disconcerting intensity. "I've just received word that a force of undead is closing on our position. They'll be here within ten minutes. Will that be enough time to complete the portal and allow us to all pass through it?"

Nex hesitated. "I believe so, yes."

"Good. Now what?"

He straightened, knuckling the small of his back. "The spell is writ on a scroll specifically designed to only be read, the words impossible to remember otherwise."

"And you have this scroll?" she demanded.

He shrugged. "No."

Within the depths of her plumed helmet, the Warden's face went dark with sudden rage. "You destroyed priceless treasures of the night elf people for a spell you're not even sure you can create?"

Nex smiled viciously. "I didn't say that." Quite deliberately he drew one of his heavy-bladed daggers from his belt, ignoring the way a dozen arrows flew to strings all around him. After a moment of concentration he slammed the hilt into his jaw, knocking one of his back teeth out in a blaze of pain. With his free hand he caught the tooth as it flew from his mouth.

"I've cast this unmemorable spell once before, and it's my nature to always ensure that I can do so again." He displayed the tooth, which had been carved all over with fel runes and pulsed with demonic energy. "Let's just say that as I spoke the words, I inscribed them here." And it had not been pleasant. It had made a spell which nearly killed him and Lynda both all that much more difficult to cast. What he didn't tell them was that he hadn't looked at the spell to see if he could change the exit vector to follow his link to Stormrage. He was confident he could do so in any case.

Puros was staring at the tooth in revulsion, actually going so far as to rub his own jaw in sympathy. "Never fear," he told the paladin. "I have thirty more, and it's not as if I have the occasion to chew things very often."

Shadowsong made a disgusted noise. "Get on with it, demon hunter."

Nex shrugged. "As you wish. This spell is not going to be easy to maintain. As I cast it I'd advise you to prepare your minions to travel through as quickly as possible."

The Warden responded by barking orders to her Telratha, getting their camp packed up in good order. As she did Nex began laying out the ritual circle in the center of the clearing, using candles the night elves had provided as markers along the focal points. When he had it prepared to his satisfaction he lifted the tooth and began perusing the spell, finding the spots he would need to change and magically erasing the pertinent runes, replacing them.

When he reached the destination vector he paused and slowly, cautiously groped along his link to Stormrage, pulsing a locater spell along it to determine the exact distance there and back, which he halved. It was unbelievably far away, but even so not as distant as the world to which Lynda had created her portal to. It would not require as much power, and he was much more powerful now in any case. What nearly killed both of them before would be child's play for him now, with his materials.

He had a moment of panic when he felt a twinge on the link, as if Stormrage had felt his efforts and was responding. If the corrupted night elf decided to investigate and communicated with him right here, things were going to get ugly.

To his relief, however, the moment passed, and the link became quiescent once more.

His relieve turned to annoyance when he looked up to find Puros standing in the center of his ritual circle, hands on his hips. "What the hell are you doing?" he snapped.

"Watching you," the paladin replied calmly.

"Get off my damn spellform circle, idiot. If you smudge those lines we could all end up floating in the Twisting Nether instead of coming out on Draenor." Puros leapt backwards with an oath, knocking over a candle holder in his haste, and with an impatient hiss Nex strode forward and worked to repair the damage the fool had caused. Then, without looking at anyone, he held the tooth before him, tapped the Illidari stone and the first of the enchanting components, and began chanting the spell. As many such demonic spells were it was indescribably vile to the ear, and he hoped the pious paladin was enjoying listening to it.

Child's play it might have been, but it was child's play that sent agony shooting through him, and rapidly drained the stone and the components both. In the center of his circle the portal began twisting and spinning out of nowhere, rotating constantly as it formed, both along the circumference and along its vertical axis. It was a sickly purple color, the space between indescribably black. Sometime during the casting he found himself on his knees, and was surprised to find none other than Puros gripping his shoulder and helping him back to his feet. He took the opportunity his proximity to the paladin created to siphon off a bit of his holy energy and add it to the spellform. Within another thirty seconds the portal was complete, and he nodded wearily to Shadowsong.

She nodded back, then lifted a hand and made a series of gestures to her warriors.

A dozen scouts leapt through, showing not the slightest hesitation and leaping into a portal between worlds. After them, wasting no time, the vanguard marched through in ordered ranks. Then behind came a long string of oddly made wagons carrying supplies, and then another wagon that was little more than a cage on wheels.

Nex took a moment to glance at the cage away from his efforts to maintain the portal, and couldn't help but smile. "Had that for long, Shadowsong?" he asked.

"Since I began this hunt," the night elf snapped. "There's only the rearguard left to go. You may pass through, human."

"I may," Nex replied, fighting to keep the strain from his voice. He would have preferred if they didn't delay to chatter, considering how quickly maintaining the portal was draining the Illidari stone and his store of enchanting supplies, "although if I do, you'll just have to resign yourself to cooling your heels here while your minions capture the Betrayer. I have to be last through the portal."

"That's a lie," Puros said harshly, stepping away from Nex and coming alongside the Warden. "I've seen more than my fair share of mage portals, and they all remain stable for at least a minute after the mage passes through."

"Yes, since I'm apparently a mage," Nex panted out. "Especially considering that all the _mages_ you see are creating portals between worlds along a soul link. What do you think I'm doing here, admiring my handiwork? The moment I stop feeding energy into this portal it's going to collapse."

"That's fine by me," Puros said. "Lady Shadowsong, feel free to pass through, and send your rearguard through as well. Once you're safely on Draenor Nex is free to shut the portal, and I'll be free to conclude my business with him."

"Don't be absurd," Shadowsong snapped. "I'm not leaving the only person who can create a portal behind." She whirled to her rearguard, which was led by Fadingstar, and switched from Common to Kaldoreen to bark out orders. "Fadingstar, hand pick twelve of our best archers and remain behind. We're going through the portal, and then this creature is following us. If he does not do so kill him immediately."

"No fear," Nex said in Common through gritted teeth. "I'll follow you through. Please hurry the hell up, though. I'm running out of strength to power this thing." He was glad Shadowsong hadn't realized that, if the portal was only possible because of his link to Stormrage, once they got to Draenor it wouldn't be possible to create a return portal.

Puros glared between the two of them. "Fine. But I'm going through as well to keep an eye on him." He turned to Jarvak. "You have lead of the men until I return. If the murderer doesn't follow us through the portal, feel free to kill him." Nex couldn't help but laugh. Puros hadn't understood the Warden's words to Fadingstar, but he'd come to the same conclusion.

"With pleasure," Jarvak said, hefting his warhammer.

Shadowsong and the rearguard moved through the portal at a trot, leaving Puros to follow. With a last distrustful glance at Nex, the paladin turned and strode through the spell's inky black center.

Nex waited a few moments, then used his particular brand of magic to corrupt the already corrupted portal, as he had done so long ago to change the exit vector for the Stormwind mage tower's portal. He didn't dare change it much since the distance between Azeroth and Draenor was immense, and like a super long line even the slightest change in angle would drastically change the exit location: he had no intention of coming out of his portal in the Twisting Nether.

So he made just the slightest change, hoping it would be enough to drop him somewhere besides where Puros waited. Then he turned to Jarvak. "You don't think we'll return," he said calmly. "I can see it in your eyes.

"What of it?" Jarvak replied coldly.

Nex smiled, showing his unnaturally long canines. "I'm not sure I'll return either. But if I do you had best hope I never see you again." Without waiting for a response he turned and stepped forward into the blackness. The portal winked shut behind him like a maw closing over its prey, leaving the night elves and paladins staring at nothing.

_This is the end of book one, The Demon Hunter. The tale of Nex-thanarak continues in book two, Outland, which follows our hero to the ruined world of Draenor._


	24. Sneak Peek

Demon Hunter: Outland

Sneak Peek

Puros glared at him, the look in his eyes one Nex hadn't yet seen from the paladin. He'd seen judgment and condemnation, disgust, horror, disdain, and contempt. But this was the first time he'd seen hatred. Pure, unadulterated hatred. It was surprisingly satisfying to finally see the paladin's lofty ideals stripped away and real human emotion revealed.

"Give up?" Puros snarled. "Give up?" The words seemed to fill him with mindless rage. "Do you know what I've already _given up_ to hunt you, boy?" His hands opened and closed helplessly on the odd purple-tentacled hammer he bore. "I joined the rebuilding of Stormwind because I was weary of the endless fight and was looking start a new life. A life of building instead of simply preventing destruction. An end to the endless conflict and war. I'd train new youths to go out into the world hunting scum like you, while I found a wife and started a family. I'd hoped to take a greater part in the Order's business, perhaps even lead it one day."

Those eyes cursed him, hated him. Puros continued in a low growl. "I took a dozen good men to their deaths. I followed a madwoman chasing a demon to this hell of a world where I'm doomed to remain until I die. I'll never find the peace my life of sacrifice for Azeroth has earned me. I'll never raise sons of my own to know the joys of the Light. I've lost everything chasing you. _Everything_! My life, my men, my standing. All I have left is-"

"Nothing." Nex cut in quietly. "All you have left is Nex."

Puros panted, glaring murder at him. "Yes," he hissed. "All I have left is you. You and vengeance."

Nex looked at the broken man. He truly had lost everything, even the confidence and strength of his misguided ideals. The proper thing in this situation would have been to gloat. Perhaps toss out a few taunts about his precious Light, but Nex couldn't bring himself to do it. To his surprise he felt something he'd never felt before. Pity.

**A small segment taken from Demon Hunter: Outlands. The Prologue for book two will be coming shortly. From there I anticipate no longer than a week between updates, and if I'm writing like a madman maybe less.**

**Just a promise to my readers: I finish what I start. I'm not going to get halfway through the book and leave you hanging. Keep reading, and I'll keep writing.**


	25. Extra: Ashenvale Offensive

Hey all,

This isn't related to the Demon Hunter storyline whatsoever. It's mostly me just venting a little steam at the way some bits of the Cata storyline have been handled. Especially in regards to GJ.

NT

Extra

Ashenvale Offensive

Silverwing Grove.

Malfurion could recall hundreds of visits to that hallowed place in his more than ten thousand years of life. It was not the first place nor the first time he'd made love to Tyrande, and yet by her profession it was the time when the Moon Goddess had formally blessed their union.

Beyond that it was a place of exquisite beauty and peace. Even the most bloodthirsty demons had given it a wide berth on their march to Hyjal, unnerved by the feeling of calm and power that permeated it. The spirits of ancient trees and beasts roamed in animal and elvish form, young elves were brought there to grow up and meditate in the serenity of that sacred place, bathing in holy waters and sleeping under warm stars and the light of the moon. And at one time Cenarius himself had called it home, and his daughters the dryads had been its stewards.

By the Goddess, had the savages no morals whatsoever? There were few places holier to his people. Particularly the Sentinels who loved it well. And to bring chained toys from the campaign in Northrend, the magnataur and proto-drakes, many of which Garrosh had captured only by fighting alongside the Alliance.

Garrosh Hellscream. He fought at the head of his soldiers in this unprovoked attack, from the report Malfurion had received. He didn't know all the specifics, but what he did know was that before the day was through the false warchief of the Horde would be torn to pieces by the treants he commanded. All the orcs who thought to defile the sacred groves of his homeland and slaughter his people, and any ragtags they brought with him, would perish as nature itself came alive in response to this affront.

"Where are you going, Shando Stomrage?" a voice asked quietly from behind.

Thrall, or as he'd taken to calling himself in the presence of his mistress, Go'el. Aggra of the Mag'har seemed to find it offensive to hear her pupil referred to by his "slave" name. Malfurion had been in council with the former warchief and high-ranking members of the Earthen Ring and Cenarian Circle when word of the atrocity at Ashenvale reached him. Likely the young shaman was wondering what was going on.

Or perhaps he knew perfectly well.

Malfurion drew himself up, his emotions surging into a roiling whirlwind. _You dare stand before me, orc? You dare call me to task after the news I've heard? I should strike you down where you stand._

No, he couldn't say such things. If there was to be any hope of peace some words would have to remain unspoken. However justified.

"I've just received word from Ashenvale," he said instead.

Thrall's expression grew grim and sad. "Ah."

"Ah?" Malfurion repeated incredulously. "Your Horde invaded night elf lands. After our last round of negotiations I thought this was settled, but that pup Garrosh seems intent on taking what he pleases over the corpses of the innocent." Thrall said nothing, so he continued, letting his anger loose. "This is an act of war, Thrall!"

The young shaman weathered the tide of his rage like an old oak. When Malfurion finally fell silent he spoke quietly. "What will you do?"

He met the blue-eyed gaze steadily. "You know what I'll do. What I must do. I'll rouse the ancients to war. I'll wake the druids and gather the Sentinels, and lead at their head as I did in the Second Legion War. I'll drive the invaders from Ashenvale and to the gates of Orgrimmar itself." He let his voice drop, low and full of promise. "And then I'll seek reparations."

Thrall shook his head in sad disbelief. "Is this the time to be letting such conflict grow? Deathwing roams free, killing indiscriminately. The Twlight's Hammer sow their seeds of nihilism in every city and war camp. The World Pillar is shattered and Deepholme is but a sliver away from merging with the Prime Material Plane. Ragnaros stirs and Hyjal burns. We must work together or see all of Azeroth destroyed. As the head of the Cenarian Circle, your duty is greater than any consideration of race or faction. As the leaders of Earthen Ring and Cenarian Circle, we must make the first gesture in-"

"Make the first gesture?" Malfurion cut him off forcefully. "Are you mad, Thrall?"

Thrall's jaw tightened. "Do you think I like leaving the fate of my people to another while I concern myself with the worries of Azeroth itself?"

Malfurion laughed in the orc's face. "You dare talk of neutrality? You _dare_? When the Alliance captured you and took you in to stand lawful trial for the war crimes of the Horde, you slaughtered them all while _claiming neutrality_. But now that my people are threatened, and by the figurehead _you_ set up to rule in your absence no less, you suddenly remember your high-minded ideals?"

Thrall opened his mouth, but Malfurion continued fiercely. "Ancient trees, Thrall! Trees with voices of their own and wisdom going back thousands, tens of thousands of years, hacked down to be made into weapons and _used against my people_! Innocent women and children butchered unawares in an act of unlawful and unmitigated aggression. A civilization that has prospered in solitary peace for ten thousand years, now on the brink of extermination, and you ask me to ignore the actions of your people and watch my own race die for the sake of Azeroth?"

"If we do not face the threats that come against us now, the extinction of your race is certain. Peace can be brokered when Deathwing is defeated."

It shocked him, that in spite of his rage he could hear something outrageous enough to make him laugh not once, but once again. "You bloody-handed hypocrite. Prattling on about peace and the greater good while for years you willfully turn a blind eye to the atrocities committed by the people under your command. Always claiming ignorance, and yet somehow the people who commit those atrocities remain in power, unchecked. And now, the very moment when you set aside your mantle of warchief, suddenly your people become the same brutal, bloodthirsty savages they were in the wars against the humans? Convenient, that you can cheer your people on while personally claiming to be above the conflict."

Thrall's jaw had clenched during Malfurion's tirade, yet somehow he kept his temper. "The World Pillar must be mended, and now. I cannot afford to tarry while it threatens to collapse and hurl us all into the Plane of Earth." He turned away. "If your conscience bids you so, go, lead your people in a fruitless war while Azeroth burns around you. Or remember your duty, to Hyjal no less, and set aside your differences until the crisis is past."

Shoulders straight, the young shaman took his first step towards his duty. Towards his destiny.

On his second vines sprang up from the ground to catch him and hold him fast. He froze, marshaling his power, but did not loose it as yet.

"No, Thrall," Malfurion said quietly. "You speak as if the only problem here is me. If the danger is so present that no one can be spared from the fight against it, go to that madman Garrosh you set as warchief in your stead and force him to recall his troops to a worthier purpose. Let Nobundo and the rest of the Earthen Ring deal with the World Pillar while you, personally, finally accept responsibility for the people you command and check their barbarity."

Thrall pulled free from the entangling roots enough to turn, seeing Malfurion Stormrage with all the fury of nature at his fingertips, poised and ready for violence. "If the two of us cannot escape these bonds of hatred for the greater good, my friend, I weep for Azeroth."

Malfurion was deadly grim. "As do I, orc. But you're a newborn, birthed upon this world in blood and devastation, while I've wept these tears for more than ten thousand years. And whatever facade you show the world, I judge your tears those of a crocodile, washing your eyes with false grief as you devour whatever you please." His voice hardened, the vines around Thrall tightening painfully in answer. "Go to Garrosh, Thrall. Your people are sprinting down the path back to the Old Horde you claim to despise, back to the example of Grom and Orgrim and Rend and all the other butchers and monsters you loudly proclaim you've learned your lesson from. Turn your people back from this path, or by Elune and the light of the moon I'll hunt you and every last one of your kind from one end of Azeroth to the other and excise you like a cancer from her surface."


End file.
